The End Game
by graceremains
Summary: Panem will be holding the final Hunger Games with the permission of the remaining victors to entertain the people as the new government attempts to rebuild. Alexandria Snow is certain that she has earned a spot in the new Games because of her grandfather's position in the old regime, but she also knows that the new government has no idea what the Hunger Games covered up.
1. Chapter 1: Fools

"_Look at them."_

_We were standing on the balcony of my grandfather's mansion, watching the revelry below. I caught the tone of contempt in my grandfather's voice as I took in the cacophony of the pulsating mass of humanity that spread out like a bizarre blanket across the yard._

"_Such utter fools, Ali," my grandfather said. I remained silent, trying to look dignified and distance myself from the people below. Even at 12, I refused to be a fool._

"_All they require is panem et circenses, bread and circuses, and they will not worry about the future." I took a moment to consider his statement as fireworks began to go off._

"_Are you worried, grandfather?"_

"_This nation isn't as stable as it looks, but I always have a plan, my dear."_

* * *

The capitol's latest news updates are playing softly in my ears as I grab my goggles and turn towards the door. The squalling of an infant masks the sound of an announcement about food distributions in District 6.

"Going somewhere, Miss Snow?" asks the guard posted at our door. He must be new.

"Clearly," I snap. "I'm going for a run. If you have a problem with that, you can follow me."

He looks a little unsettled and touches his earpiece, no doubt calling his commander, but he doesn't try to stop me as I walk across the front yard. There's no real reason to stop me. One of the first things the new government did was to put trackers in anyone they wanted to keep from disappearing.

It is a crisp March day in the Capitol, but the sky is a sunny blue as I set out down the street. I slip on my goggles as I begin to run, and program in my route. Ten miles. Interval training.

I hate running, but I push myself to go faster as the program instructs. I've been running since I heard the announcement in December. The final annual Hunger Games will be held this spring, and its special twist is that it will involve the children of the previous government's leaders. The reaping will be held in the spring, shortly before the actual games, but I don't fool myself. The reaping will be for show only, and I will be chosen. There's no way I wouldn't be at the top of their list for misguided revenge.

As I slow my pace a bit, I select the program on various plant species, and the announcements in my headphones are replaced by information. Occasionally, my goggles provide images to supplement the narrative. I don't find the inundation of plant facts particularly interesting, but I consider it part of my training. If I am going to be forced to participate in the games, I will be prepared. As I memorize the plant information, I turn my mind to the games ahead and try to plan.

My first reaction to the announcement was shock, and to my surprise, I felt somewhat betrayed. The victors voted and chose to have another Hunger Games, even though they knew the psychological effect of the games. I had admired Katniss for her cunning, back then. But that was before I had realized how damaged she was, and how broken they all were. Given the psychological damage the victors endured, perhaps the vote wasn't so surprising. I don't think distracting the population was as much of a consideration for them as the notion of revenge. Coin, on the other hand, knew exactly what she was proposing. The fact that President Paylor allowed the final game to be hosted, supposedly in the memory of Coin and all the other victims of the war and the previous games, was an interesting decision. A bit of a bold move, but it would likely distract the population and bring some closure to those traumatized by the previous Hunger Games.

As I turn the corner, running alongside the training center, I pick up my pace again, watching my footing. The Capitol is a mess these days, and though it is cleaner than it was right after the troops invaded, stray pieces of clothing dropped by frantic refugees and rubble litter the road. It took two days before the new government cleared the tiny bodies out of the city center, and weeks before the ground was no longer stained with blood. Despite the mess, I can see people making their way off to the market near the city center where the government is handing out rations. The war shattered the façade of the city, but the people that are still here are resilient.

My parents were allowed to keep their house after the new government failed to find proof that they were intimately involved in my grandfather's administration, under the condition that we house at least 20 refugees. They claim the guard is there for the refugees, but I think they're trying to make sure we don't run away. It would look bad for them, and I thought about it for a while, but there's nowhere I can run. So I shut the door to my room and study and plan.

It's noisy at home now, which makes it a bit harder to focus, but they haven't taken any of our things away yet. I still have my computer and the goggles, which help me prepare for the upcoming games. Most of my clothes are useless. I suppose I could sell some of them, but few people want the outlandish outfits that were so popular back then.

The plant recording finishes, and I instruct it to play again. By the end of my run, I will have the entire volume memorized and move on to the next. I found a program on survival techniques that I plan to listen to once I finish all of the volumes about plants. I'm not sure what I will study after that; there weren't many more useful information programs about the games to be found. I'd watched all of the games at least once in their unabridged version, and I knew most of the pitfalls that got tributes killed.

I'm not much of a fighter, which is probably my biggest disadvantage. I started taking lessons immediately after the announcement, but there is only so much progress I can make in a number of months. It doesn't help that I'm small and thin for a 16 year old if I get into a fight. Though I hope the other tributes underestimate me because of it. I want to win these games. I need to win these games. Not just because I want to survive, or to spite the people who want me to die, but because I need to fix things, and I need more than a matter of months.

The new government is trying to put a positive spin on things, but this country is falling apart. They're trying to rebuild it, but they haven't even realized how fragile things actually are. My grandfather had a plan, but he's dead now. I don't think he told anyone else; he liked to keep his secrets quiet, and this was a pretty big one. So now I'm the only one who understands the real problem and they're going to kill me in a grand spectacle to appease the populace. And there isn't much I can do about it. Such utter fools.

I try to focus only on the words in my headphones as I finish my run.


	2. Chapter 2: Faces Part 1

_I was ten, and the party was the most boring thing I could imagine. I had eaten lots of food, and I was tired of the polite behavior and talking. Cornelia Trifle, Amilie Goodrow, Chelsei Lawley, and little Valeria Flickerman surrounded me. The novelty of being around the three older girls had begun to wear off. I was still smiling, but I had started to glance around._

_Carcalla Mellis approached our group and I waved at her. We had spent the last party building towers out of the desserts where no one could see us. My grin broadened, but then I realized that Amilie and Cornelia weren't moving to let her join us. Chelsei reached across the circle towards me._

"_Come on Ali, let's get some more dessert. We can talk in peace over there," she said with a smile. The smile was gone when she glanced back at Carcalla._

_Carcalla didn't bother to follow. I frowned and asked my mother about it later._

"_Carcalla's family has fallen out of favor," she said, "You need to learn to keep your expressions and thoughts to yourself. You should be grateful that the girls kept you away from creating the scene that would have happened if you had tried to talk to her."_

* * *

I get home from my run around dusk. Lights are on in the house, and I can see people crowding the kitchen and dining room. I slip off my goggles and headphones. The same guard waits at the door, wearing a blank expression.

"Your guest is waiting, Miss Snow," he says as I drag my aching legs inside. I didn't invite a guest over, but I keep my expression neutral. I'm expecting someone from the government, someone official, but Marcus Flickerman is waiting in the hall.

He is tall, but well-built for seventeen, with dark curly hair that he keeps long and tied back in a pony tail, but the first thing I notice is his outfit. He wears a suit in a shiny electric purple with glittering black epaulettes, and his form fills the hallway. Seeing him wearing the suit, I feel like I am seeing a creature from an outdated era. Surely he knows it isn't practical to wear anything like that any more. I stare.

I know of him, from occasional exams that I have taken, but I had never met him before. He was constantly in the middle of the crowd, popular, and well-liked by most of the wealthier people my age in the Capitol. He was part of a crazier crowd, too. I had never joined in any of his escapades, but I had heard about them from my mother. The most dramatic of which involved him being caught on top of the obelisk in the city center wearing nothing more than a Capitol flag. None of this helped to explain why he could possibly be here. I was known to be quiet, studious, and kind enough, but not exactly talkative. Certainly not someone he should go out of his way to meet. I turn my eyes to the ground, realizing that I have been staring for too long.

He clears his throat and shuffles his feet. I look up at him again. The silence stretches longer, and I finally speak.

"Can I help you with something?" The awkwardness becomes even more tangible, but at least I wasn't rude.

"Alexandria, right?" he asks, looking at me curiously.

"Yes, Ali." I have no idea where this is going. I'm soaked in sweat from my run, and I want nothing more than to change and sit down. Let him leave, please, let him leave, I think.

"You heard the announcement about the Games, right?"

"Yes." I want to roll my eyes, now. Has he just figured it out? That the odds are never entirely random?

"Do you-" He stutters for a moment. "Do you think that you'll end up as a tribute?"

"Yes."

"Do you think I will too?"

So that was what this really was about. I appraised him for a moment. Honestly, it was pretty likely that he would end up joining me in the arena. His father was too well known, and he was too outspoken and well-dressed to fade quietly in to the background as the new regime was set up. I hesitate. I don't want to hurt him, but he should be prepared.

"Possibly. Your father was pretty popular, and I don't know if they'll forget about you when they determine the reaping pools. Maybe you'll get lucky?" His face is composed as I give my answer, and my estimation of him goes up. I hadn't been thinking of him as an ally, but perhaps he could be. I need to sort out who will be joining me as tributes in the arena before I choose my allies, I decide. I appraise him for another moment, and decide that he could be a training partner.

"You planning on winning?" he asks. I can't keep the expression of surprise of my face for a fleeting moment, and I know he sees it.

"I'm going to try."

"Want to be allies?"

A harder question to answer. I don't think we'll get along particularly well, if this conversation is any indication, but at least he seems to be in good shape. I can't say "no" to his question without earning myself an enemy.

"I'm not making any plans about allies yet, but I could use a training partner," I say.

"We could climb the obelisk in the city center and get a little alone time together," he says with a grin, as he steps forward

Ugh, not what I wanted. I have to resist the urge to take several steps back.

"Um, no thanks," I insist, trying to keep my face neutral.

"That's a pity."

I don't say anything.

"I'll see you again soon, pretty Ali," he says, and brushes past me as he walks down the hall and out the door.

Not at all what I expected. I think it through, and realize that he could be visiting everyone he thinks is a possible tribute. Why would he only visit me? It's a bit of a strange strategy, either way. I frown, and head in to the kitchen to help the refugees serve dinner.

I escape quickly after dinner and begin to look up my potential fellow tributes on the capitol database. I don't know what they're aiming for, but most of us aren't physically intimidating. Most of my peers are quite good at social manipulation, though, something I avoid when I get the chance.

My survival plan calls of a team, at least in the very beginning. Control of the cornucopia is a powerful tool in the early game, especially when most of my fellow tributes won't know how to survive off the land. I just hadn't realized how quickly the teams would begin to form.

My first instinct was to draw on my friends from the parties and events I had been to, but that was questionable at best. We didn't have to go to a building every day for school; almost all of our education was though our computers, with the exception of infrequent exams, so most of my socializing was at parties and events. It was too difficult to tell who would be a real ally and who would simply team up with me because I planned well and then stab me in the back.

After a while of looking through profiles, I settled on two likely candidates for a useful alliance.

Sabina Merlier was the daughter of my father's primary physician. He had been responsible for overseeing medical operations in the Capitol, so it was pretty likely she would be chosen. I knew her to be a calm dependable person, and she knew more about medicine than most of us from her studies and from her father. She was probably the person I was closest to, once I forgot about all the fake friends who had taken up my time to try and gain favor with my family. She had even visited me twice since the collapse of Panem as we knew it. Sabina was probably the closest thing I had to a friend these days.

Julius Crane was the opposite of Sabina's steady personality. He kept to himself and didn't socialize much, lashing out at most people who tried to engage him in small talk. He was smart, though, and I knew he could fight. He had volunteered to join the peacekeepers to get away from the Capitol, but had returned after only three months, refusing to talk about what had happened. He had become even less talkative after the death of his father, and retreated away from most of society. He probably had an automatic ticket into the games because his father had served as Head Gamemaker for three of the last games. He was a wild card, but he would be an incredibly valuable ally, if I could convince him to help me.

I glance out the window, and decide that it's worth acting on this sooner rather than later if Marcus is already trying to sort out the playing field. With any luck, my parents won't notice that I'm gone. They don't check on me much these days. I slip on a pair of worn pants, and put a somewhat ragged coat over my plain shirt. I leave my hair tied up, put a hat over it, and find a small knife in the kitchen to slip in my pocket. I can't do too much with it, but it could convince someone to leave me alone, and it's better than nothing.

"You're going out?" one of the refugees asks. Cara, that was her name. She's holding the baby and watching me from one of the kitchen chairs.

"Yeah, there are a couple of things I need to do," I say quietly. I pause for a moment and then ask, "do you want me to get anything?"

"Do you think you could check for baby formula?" she asks.

"Sure." The market isn't far from where I'm planning on going, but it wasn't a particularly safe place to bring a baby. I can see the relief in her eyes.

"I have money for it," she says, reaching for her bag.

"Don't worry about it," I say, twisting the bracelet on my wrist. It's one of my nicer bracelets from better days, meant to match a dress I'll never wear again. I don't need it where I'm going in the next couple of months.

A new soldier is on duty as I slip out the door, and he nods as I pass. The streets are dark and even darker where lamps have been broken, or lights are covered in dark muck. People move briskly down the streets, and don't glance around much. I'm near the city center, so things aren't so bad, but I survey the street warily and walk quickly.

I'm visiting Sabina first, since her family's new quarters are just off of the city center. Their real penthouse apartment was destroyed during the war, so now they live in refugee housing. She insists that it isn't too bad, and her location certainly is convenient.

I tap on the door, and a man I don't recognize opens it. His outfit is a bizarre collection of outdated fashion pieces that seem to be falling apart under the wear and tear of everyday life.

"I'm here to see Sabina," I say.

"Come in, come in," he says, and I follow him into a crowded hallway. Belongings are strewn across the ground, and a couple of sleeping mats take up the space. I step over an older lady trying to sleep with a sweater over her face as we squeeze our way over to the kitchen. Sabina greets me in surprise as I enter.

"Hi Sabina," I say, unsure how to go about this now that I'm here.

"Ali!" she says, with a smile. I never feel awkward around her, and I had forgotten how much I appreciate that.

"I was hoping to talk to you. About the games." I say quietly, my face a bit grim.

"Oh. Yeah, the games."

"I'm probably going to be a tribute."

"Me too," she says glumly, "They need twenty four of us, and my parents were pretty well known. They were too involved in all of it for me to just disappear."

"I've been trying to train. You know, running every day. I could use a partner," I say with a somewhat bitter smile. She was too good for any of this.

"You, run?" she laughs quietly, "Yeah, I'd like that. I've always hated the games. I just wanted to be a doctor, and fix people, and it doesn't matter that I haven't done anything, I just-" I reach out and hug her, and she stops talking. I can feel her sob once as we stand there, before she eventually pulls away.

"Thanks Ali," she says, "I wasn't sure I had a real friend in all of this mess."

"Of course," I say. There isn't much more I can add to that. We stand there peacefully for a moment before I ask, "I'll see you tomorrow around lunchtime?"

"Yeah."

I give her another brief hug and slip out the door, nearly tripping on the sleeping woman on the way out. It's almost a relief to be out of the apartment and away from the crowd, though the night has its own dangers.

The market is still crowded as I enter to look for the baby formula. Most of it looks like legitimate shops, but it's much more than that. The market is housed in the set of gray ornate buildings that used to be one of the main shopping centers right off of the main square. A couple of the broken signs still flash outside the entrances. Some of the legitimate shops are still in business, and the ones that aren't are full of illegal vendors offering all kinds of services. The government is still distributing rations, but they aren't really enough, so the market exists. People sell their possessions, stolen possessions, and their services, just to pay for whatever it is they want. Everything had a price at the market, if you knew where to look: food, new practical clothes, weapons, stolen jewelry, or an obnoxious neighbor's death. I hate that the market exists, but I still use it.

I sell my bracelet for a good enough sum, and head towards the food. A leering man asks me how much I cost, and I have to get out my knife before he leaves me alone. Nobody gives me a second glance. I push my way through the crowd around the food, and grab one of the last bottles of formula. A lady tries to grab the bottle from me, but I refuse to let go. An old man tries to sell me a gun "for protection, dearie," and for a moment, I consider it. Finally I turn away, and get my chance to pay for the formula before I leave as quickly as I can with the crowd.

I don't encounter any trouble getting to Julius' place, and his mother opens the door.

"What is it," she snaps.

"Is Julius home?" I ask.

"No. What are you doing here? I don't give money to beggars, you know. Only encourages your lot." She glares at me. She certainly doesn't recognize me in the worn and baggy clothes, but perhaps that's a good thing.

"Do you know when he'll be back?" I try.

"No, and you're not waiting around here."

"Do you know where he went?" I ask cautiously, but my luck has run out. She slams the door in my face, and I am left standing outside the apartment. I step back for a moment, to consider my options.

"I know where he went, m'am."

I glance around and see a small boy of perhaps six standing by the trash cans. He is painfully thin, and he wears an odd combination of a tight long sleeve shirt and leather striped pants, hugging a women's fur vest over the top to keep warm. He looks at me hopefully.

"You know where he went?" I ask, curiously.

"I saw him leave. He almost always goes to the same place. Why do you want to find him?" he asks cautiously.

"I just want to talk to him. I'm hoping he can help me with something."

The boy doesn't seem to think I'm threatening, because he relaxes a bit.

"I can show you how to get there," he says. I hand him most of my coins, and he looks at me in surprise and thanks before he takes off and gestures for me to follow. I follow him at a steady jog, my legs complaining.

We end up at what appears to no longer be an abandoned warehouse, since I can here sounds of shouting. The boy points to the building, and then runs off. I can't really blame him for it, because the area definitely doesn't seem safe. None of the street lamps are working, covered with the same black material, and one of the nearby apartment complexes has been reduced to rubble.

I slip in the door and I am immediately deafened by the sound of noise. Yelling, roaring, screaming. A large man with a gun stops me.

"Password?"

"I'm here to see a friend," I don't stand a chance of making up the password, but hopefully I can get by.

"You gotta pay for that," he says.

I dig the remaining coins out of my pocket and apparently it's enough because he lets me through.

I push my way through the mob until I eventually get to a balcony. Below me are rings of brutal fighting matches. Most fight hand to hand, but here and there, I see men with guns, nets, or knives, and one woman with a spear. I scan the room for Julius, but I don't see him below in the matches. I glance around even more carefully, and I finally spot him sitting on one of the rafters.

He's crouched on his toes, scanning the crowd as carefully as I would, his dark brows creased. He runs one hand through his short black hair, and checks something in his sleeves and pockets. Knives? Guns? I wonder. He gives a slight nod in another direction, and resumes his analysis of the crowd.

I am contemplating climbing up there, though there isn't any easy way, when the tones of the voices change. The people below are clearing a larger circle, and a huge man steps in to the center. I watch as money changes hands in the crowd, and then Julius drops down from the rafters.

The fight begins with brutal efficiency. The man attempts to strike him, but Julius sways to the side and strikes back and the man collapses.

Another man enters the ring as the first one is carried out, and the next fight only takes several moments longer before the man is being dragged away. I hear a scream of anguish.

Several other men in the crowd rush toward Julius in fury, several of them drawing guns. A frown flickers across Julian's face and he draws a cylindrical object from his pocket, and points it at one of the men.

It happens so quickly that I don't process it at first. One moment the man is there, the next he is not. That shouldn't have happened and shouldn't have been possible. Now I need to talk to him for other reasons as well.

"Fair fights only," he yells, and stalks towards the door.

I hurry towards the exit to catch up with him as he leaves. He walks quickly though, and I follow him, running to catch up with him as he turns into an alleyway.

He turns around abruptly.

"What do you want?"

"To talk to you," I reply, keeping my voice calm.

"Alexandria Snow," he says, sounding unimpressed. "Talk."

I had wanted to talk about the games, but the weapon had to be my priority. I hadn't realized anyone was so close to creating anything of that scale. So small, but such a big problem if it were discovered.

"Did you make the weapon?" I ask.

He takes the cylindrical silver out of his pocket again, pointing it in my direction before answering.

"Yes."

"How?"

"I'm good at things. Surprised, Snow? My father thought I was reckless. Not adapted to the rigid discipline and deep conversation of the powerful donors in the Capitol." He spat the last part out bitterly.

He watches me for a response, but I keep my face neutral.

"No, I'm not that surprised."

"You found me here after all," he considers, "Is that all you want?"

"No," I frown. I don't want to jump in to everything, but he's been around the Capitol long enough to know not to trust an explanation that simple. "The games."

"Ah, the games." After a moment, he smiles slightly and lowers the weapon. "You're not what I expected. Follow me, and we can talk."


	3. Chapter 3: Faces Part 2

The cement-walled room is cramped, cold, and dimly lit. Pipes run through the ceiling and large tanks take up half of the space, yet the half of the room that Julius has converted into a workshop seems comfortable. Tools lie scattered across a cluttered desk, covered with pieces and parts of machines.

"I mostly fix things for people," he says, noticing my curiosity. "I tinker around a bit with some of the parts I have left over. That's how I managed to make this." He taps the cylindrical weapon in his pocket.

For a moment, I am relieved. It's not as dangerous as it would be if he had built it from nothing, but it still poses a risk. There are reasons we don't research advanced weapons, at least not in a way where they could ever become public.

"Do you use it a lot?" I ask.

"Just that once. It's not something I want to use frequently, but it was the third time that group tried to kill me. I needed to make an impression." He sighs, sliding off his perch on an old filing cabinet.

"You shouldn't have shown them it exists. Do you realize how many people will try to kill you and steal it now? And if the government finds out…" My voice trails off.

"Concerned for my health, Snow?" he asks, with a touch of irony. "I'm flattered. You don't really need to worry. I'll keep it safe and hidden. You want to talk about the games?"

I suppose that's as good of a promise as I'll get from him, so I let him change the topic.

"Yes. I'm assuming you're pretty high on the list of potential tributes because of your father."

He didn't seem surprised at all, and just watched me in silence, waiting for me to go on.

"Do you want to be allies?" No sense in dragging things out.

"Your grandfather had my father killed," he says bitterly.

"Your father made a mistake that started the revolution. It would have set a bad precedent to leave him alive."

He glares at me. I shouldn't have said that, not when I need him to join my alliance.

"No, I don't want to be allies. I work alone."

So much for that plan. I may as well head home now, before I make the situation any worse. I don't need to make an enemy tonight.

"Fair enough. Goodnight, Julius." I turn and head for the door before realizing that I have no idea how to get home from here. We're somewhere beneath the city, in the sewers and underground passages the avoxes used to use. I hadn't even known of their existence before tonight.

Before I leave, a small, red-haired girl slips in to the room. She looks to be around twelve with pale skin and her vivid red hair appears to be thinning in places. She leans on the wall for support.

"Jules," she begins.

Julian holds up his hand.

"Goodnight, Miss Snow."

A dismissal. I slip out the door, trying to figure out my way in the symmetrical passageways. Bits of their conversation reach my ears.

"… Mama wouldn't like it …"

"… dangerous … you can't …"

"… fine … anyways … won't change things …"

Finally, I arbitrarily pick a direction so I can stop eavesdropping.

It takes me a while to find my way home, but eventually I emerge in the middle of a broken-down apartment unit.

The guard nods as I open the door quietly. It's late, but there are still lights on in the house when I return. I head for the kitchen to return my knife and pass the baby formula over to Cara, and then turn back towards the stairs.

I catch my parents' attention before I make it all the way up the stairs.

"Alexandria!" my mother exclaims.

I let out an internal sigh, and descend back down the stairs towards the dining room. My parents are sitting alone at our dining room table, with silver platters covered in food that probably came from the cans we had stored. My mother wore one of her formal gowns, it's blue color matching the tattoos that covered her skin. My father sat at the opposite end of the table, sitting stiff and straight in a glittering evening suit.

My father looks at me, his expression impossible to read. Mother sips quietly from her crystal glass.

"Alexandria, what exactly do you think you are wearing?" he asks in a flat voice.

"Practical clothes. I had to run an errand," I say, matching my father's expressionless tone.

"Snows do not run errands," my mother adds coldly.

"Make yourself presentable and then you may join us," my father says.

"I already ate." I turn to go.

"Your behavior is a disgrace to this family. Make yourself presentable and then we will discuss this." My mother's voice and face show little, but I know her well enough to tell that she is furious.

Suddenly, I've had enough.

"I'm a disgrace to the family? This family is already disgraced. The only thing that makes it worse is that you both come home from your mandatory factory labor and dress up and pretend that the war never happened-"

"Alexandria-" my father interrupts.

"My name is Ali. At least Grandfather knew me well enough to call me that."

"Enough," my mother says.

"Is it? I don't think you understand. There's no appearance to maintain. Are you going to eat all this food? Because there are hundreds of people outside who don't have any, yet you still waste it as if that makes you any better than the rest of the people in the factory. It doesn't."

My father stands. We stare at each other for a moment. I realize that I was yelling by the end of my rant and catch my breath. I can't remember the last time I yelled at someone.

"Alexandria, compose yourself."

"Or what? You'll punish me somehow? Take away my clothes or keep me from going to parties? That won't bother me any more. The government's already planning to kill me in April, so you'll have to get in line."

Fighting back tears, I turn and run upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4: Plans

_I was seven, and I was the youngest person at the reception before the victory tour party. My grandfather's advisors and gamemakers mingled with members of the press. I was wearing a simple white dress with a belt of gold and crystals and a golden knit sweater, and I was still too young for any surgical cosmetic operations that most of the older people in the room had. I remember being jealous that they all looked so flashy. I was alone, but my Grandfather joined me._

"_You look lovely, Ali," he said with a smile, "Nothing says perfection like white."_

_He took his rose off of his lapel, and tucked it in my hair making me smile. A camera flashed from somewhere in the small crowd._

"_Do you know how this girl won the games, Ali?" Grandfather asked._

"_She was smart!" I said._

"_Yes," he said, "she was clever, but more importantly, she had a plan."_

* * *

I'm sitting in my room, holding a card in my hand that our guard handed to me. It's a week before the reaping, and the new government has finally sent me a message. It's very short, and written in an ornate golden script.

Miss Alexandria Snow,

Your presence is requested at the Reaping for the 76th annual Hunger Games.

Sincerely, President Paylor

My presence is requested. Somehow I don't think I have the option of declining the request.

I'm sure I have a spot as a special tribute in the 76th Games. My family is one of the most hated families in the Capitol these days, which is why I try to stay fairly anonymous. The guard at the door also deters people from attacking us, so I suppose I can be thankful for that. It helps that I never got any significant cosmetic modifications, so when I go out, I'm not easily recognized. I have a couple of small silver snowflake tattoos on my right cheek, but they're easily concealed with the make-up that I wear when I run. My blond hair and pale complexion blends in easily enough with the mixture of the people in the Capitol.

I'm sure it won't be enough for them simply to watch me in the Games. Plutarch probably has an elaborate and dramatic death planned out for me, knowing what he was like around during Grandfather's time. There won't be anything I can do about that, except to have a better plan than they do.

I currently don't have much of a plan at all. My best chance is to make everyone underestimate me. Sabina is both my friend and ally. I spoke with quite a few of the people I remember from parties and such, and things stayed friendly, but nothing more. I don't trust any of them.

I also have larger problems. I've come to terms with the fact that the best way to help Panem is probably to help the new government, as much as I dislike the destruction they wreaked on the Capitol during the revolution. I asked the guard if I could set up a meeting with President Paylor, but was flatly turned down. I asked if I could meet with any of her representatives, and was refused yet again.

I suspect they want to limit my influence. They want me to die dramatically, unpopular and unmourned. They want the crowds to celebrate my death and the final Hunger Games as an end to a terrible era. It would probably spoil that effect if the people liked me, or thought I was capable of changing anything for the better.

For a while, I contemplated finding a way that I ensure that I die saving someone. I found it appealing mostly because I was aware of how much it would irritate our new President's administration, but I discarded it pretty quickly. It would be useful if I could find a real way of making the people of the city like me, but I won't make a difference in that no matter how much food I give away as I sell my old dresses and jewelry.

I don't have any good news to share with the people, or anything more valuable that I can give to those who lost so much. My grandfather's secrets need to remain secrets, except perhaps to President Paylor, or a trusted member of her administration. So I'm writing a letter about it to give to Cara with strict instructions not to read it and to give it to the highest person she can contact in Paylor's administration if things certain conditions are met. It's the best I can do at the moment with the time that I have.

I finish the letter and seal it. There's a knock on my door, and Sabina slips in.

"Ali, ready to run?"

"Yeah." I grab my goggles and headphones and slip them on. Sabina helped me find a couple more programs, so I'm learning about snares today. We split things up so she's listening to a program about wilderness first aid techniques for trauma on the set of headphones and goggles that I removed from my mother's room one night while she was eating dinner. This way, we can maximize the knowledge that we have as a team.

I slip the set of knives that we bought at the market into a small backpack and head to the door with Sabina.

Ever since my discovery of the sewers and tunnels under the city, I have changed my running route. Running below ground means that there are fewer people to see me running and an even smaller chance that I'll be recognized.

We practice throwing the knives into some wooden posts that Sabina set up, and practice sparring with each other. Now that we're only a week away from the reaping, we are careful not to leave any marks. If we want people to underestimate what we can do, it would be counterproductive to show up to the reaping with bruises across my face.

I've gotten better. I run faster, and my blows are stronger. My hands have gotten bruised and toughened up a bit.

We bought a cheap bow and a set of arrows at the market as well, and we keep it hidden in the tunnels. I don't know if Sabina was cheated when she bought the bow, but I haven't managed to hit anything close to the target we set up so far. Sabina hit the wrong wooden target once. The knives are a little more reliable. I'm not particularly fast, but I'm accurate enough.

I've gone back to Julius' warehouse a couple of times by myself. I never fight, but I watch the fights. Observe which blows knock an opponent down or disorient them. I watch their footing and note which blocks are effective and how to dodge different attacks.

My thoughts stray to Julius as I make my way across my yard and down the street. I have only watched Julius fight two more times since the first time I visited the warehouse, but he never loses. He is fast. Thankfully, the weapon never made a reappearance. Somehow, I trust him a little more because of that. He is not an ally, but not necessarily an enemy. I certainly can't afford to underestimate him.

Once we make our way down into the tunnels, I pick up my pace. The program whispers in my ear about knots and traps, and the remaining days until the reaping slip by.


	5. Chapter 5: Reaping

_We used to hold parties to watch the reapings in each of the districts. We would sit amongst tables of food and laugh and compare tributes' reactions to being selected on giant screens._

_Even as a child, I was encouraged to bet on the tributes. Most people didn't want to bet on me because I usually had extra information from my grandfather. Sometimes I would know that a particular tribute wouldn't make it through the games, or at the very least, the general theme of the games in advance. I was usually pretty good at guessing how different tributes would die, and I made a fair amount of extra spending money that way each year._

_I was seven when I placed my first bet on Finnick Odair. I bet on Katniss during her first Hunger Games. Grandfather didn't let me bet at all for the quarter quell._

_If I were watching the way I had nine years ago, I wouldn't bet on myself in these Games._

* * *

There is no line as I walk up to the table to have my name checked off. Capitol citizens and immigrants from the districts crowd the seats and stand behind barriers that have been put up overnight. The driveway usually used for the chariot presentation of the tributes is left clear. Camera crews are set up in multiple locations, and there are two large screens on ether side of the stage. Huge lights illuminate a currently empty stage below the president's balcony, and just below the stage, I can see a small roped-off area.

There aren't very many people in the reaping and I am conspicuously alone as a soldier walks me down the long driveway towards the roped-off areas beneath the stage. The chatter in the crowd grows louder as people catch sight of me, and I look at my feet as I walk. Finally, we near the stage, and I am pushed into the roped-off area in the very front.

I wonder how they will rig this reaping to ensure my name is pulled. I survey the stage. There are four bowls set up on the right, and four on the left, where I'm standing. The light reflects of the first bowl on the left, but I can see very clearly that there is only one name in the bowl. So that must be how.

My public image will be particularly important from now on. I appraise my walk down the chariot driveway as it replays on the two screens. Not terrible, but I could have done better. I need to look more afraid. I should also look like I am hopeful that everything will work out, so I seem naïve.

I glance around at the other people standing in the roped-off area with me, painting a nervous look on my face. I am the only person standing in the front row. In the row behind me, I recognize Sabina, the redheaded girl from my meeting with Julius, and six of my other peers. A mix of about twenty people I have only seen in passing fill the third row, and the fourth row contains a number of girls I have never seen before in my life. On the left, I notice a similar pattern with the boys. Julius and Marcus stand in the second row with a handful of others that I know. I recognize less people in the second and third rows.

My companions in the roped-off area show a lot of variety. Some, especially those in the back are dressed in clean, but practical clothes. Others wear a wide variety of fashion gear from outlandish ball gowns to casual party dresses. Most of the dressed-up crowd are waving at the crowd in excitement and watching themselves on the screens. A lot of people are wearing resigned looks, while others look openly afraid or hostile.

I glance down at my feet again. I'm wearing impractical heels several years out of fashion, and a worn and slightly tattered long dress. It doesn't make much of an impression, but it makes me look a little more pathetic. My parents will hate it when they see me on the screens.

Right at noon, President Paylor steps up to the podium on the stage and begins to read. She begins her story of the history of Panem exactly the same way it used to be told in the districts. She describes how we rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called North America, and describes the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, and the way that the seas swallowed up most of the land. She describes the war that was fought for the remaining resources, and the misguided Capitol that rose out of the ashes with 13 enslaved districts to provide for a Capitol that could not care for itself. Then came the Days of Revolution, where the districts rose up against the Capitol. Twelve of the districts were destroyed, but the thirteenth remained independent, waiting for the day that they could bring liberty to their fellow districts. Now that day has come, and we celebrate the very last Hunger Games.

In the past, the Hunger Games required that one boy and girl be offered from each district as tribute, in punishment for the uprising. Today, 24 Capitol citizens will be selected in their stead. She explains that each of the bowls represent the children of people who were in some way responsible for the Hunger Games. The first bowl represents the people directly responsible for the games, though to the fourth bowl, which contains the names of average Capitol citizens.

President Paylor steps away from the podium to stand with members of her administration who have gathered on the stage. Enobaria steps forward from their midst, wearing a victor's crown and a slightly cruel smile.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her voice is sarcastic.

"Ladies first," she says. Her eyes land on me.

Enobaria walks over to the first bowl on the left, and grabs the slip of paper out of the bowl.

"Alexandria Snow," she reads.

I put a look of horror on my face. Tears would be useful too, if I could make myself cry, but I don't think I can do it convincingly. Four soldiers come to move towards the stage, and I allow two of them to drag me forward by my arms. With a helpful shove, I ascend the stairs to the stage on my own. I make my hands tremble as I stand there.

Enobaria moves over to the next ball, and draws seven names. Sabina and the redhead join me on the stage. Julius' expression when the redheaded girl's name is one of genuine shock and horror. Somehow, he though her name would not be drawn. Enobaria continues reading, and three girls from the third row and one from the fourth join us on stage.

"Now for the gentlemen," she says with a chuckle.

Julius, Marcus, and ten others walk on to the stage. Some lunge eagerly for the stage while others walk sedately and the boy from the fourth row has to be dragged.

"Do we have any volunteers?"

Surprisingly we do. The girl in the ridiculous ball gown leaps forward to volunteer to replace the redhead, and another girl from the fourth row wearing a homemade victory crown and tribute uniform volunteers. She doesn't care whom she replaces, and she finally picks Sabina.

I am shocked. For a moment, I smile before I can conceal it as Sabina steps down from the stage. She gets a chance to live! Unfortunately, I now have no friends in these games, and the new girl is looking at me as if she can't wait to rip me to pieces.

Another girl from the crowd wants to volunteer, but isn't allowed. Two boys volunteer to replace people I don't recognize on stage. One of them is an avox, and I wonder why he volunteers. The boy he replaces is clearly no relative of his.

Finally, Enobaria motions for us to step forward as the anthem of Panem plays.

These are my fellow tributes.

We are ushered offstage and into cars that will take us to the remake center. The parade will be held tonight since we're all conveniently in the Capitol. I sit between the avox boy and the girl in the victory costume, and keep my eyes on my feet.

The boy looks at me curiously and I watch his hands make a motion. Sign language. I don't know much of it, but I spell out a hello, trying not to draw the girl's attention. A small smile flashes across his face and, noticing the other girl watching him, he looks out the window.

"No so proud now, huh, president's girl," the girl in the victory outfit sneers once she gets tired of the silence in the car.

I keep my head down and say nothing. She shoves me into the avox boy, who looks up and glares at both of us.

"Keep your hands to yourself," snaps the soldier sitting in the front of the car.

We ride the rest of the way to the remake center in silence.

A prep team of three waits for me at the entrance of the remake center. An older woman with blue skin and rhinestone tattoos covering her skin that sags in places and seems strangely youthful in others leads the way inside without any introductions.

Once we arrive in the preparation room, I get a good look at the other two members of my prep team. A man wearing too much make-up and a tight neon green vest without a shirt underneath begins rinsing my hair, and the youngest member of my prep team, a brown-haired girl without any sort of cosmetic modifications begins to attack my nails.

It doesn't take them long to finish scrubbing off the wear and tear of the last several months, and they throw a robe on me as they take me to meet my stylist.

I recognize her the moment she steps in the room. Silviana Cressory, a one-time Capitol fashion designer known for her outlandish designs, even by Capitol standards. She's wearing a confection in pink with a fluffy skirt covered in pink glass balls and a sort of pink board with more balls and feathers that rises up two feet above her head.

I wonder if the government intentionally assigned her to me with the intent of sabotaging any public opinion that may have been in my favor.

"Miss Snow," she gushes, "it is such a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Thank you. I'm delighted to have you as my stylist," I lie, forcing my lips up into a smile.

"Let's discuss your costume for the tribute parade," she says, delighted. "We are going to outdo absolutely everyone. These final games really are fantastic! A real chance for the Capitol to show what it's made of!"

In my mind, I add her to the mentally unsound category. These games are in no way fantastic.

There's a pause, and I don't say anything.

"Well, here's what I had in mind," she says, pushing a sketch over to me excitedly. "It's almost done!"

I glance down at a gaudy monstrosity. An enormous cone shaped pink crown with Cinna and Portia's fake flames spilling out the top perches on top of the head of a girl ensconced in layer after layer of multi-colored fabric.

Maybe people will pity me for having to wear that outfit, I muse.

I need to avoid looking gaudy, and frivolous. It set the public against me even more.

"Don't you love it?" she asks, her artificially drawn in eyebrows rising up to her hairline.

"It's lovely," I say haltingly, "but I was hoping to go for a bit of a different look."

Her face becomes irate.

"I've worn many beautiful outfits like yours, and I was hoping to wear something that shows that I also can be humble in the parade!" I add hurriedly.

"The parade is no place to be humble, Alexandria!"

"But when everyone else is wearing fire, and lights, and trying to outdo each other, I could stand out by wearing a simpler costume," I try.

Silviana pinches her lips. At least she is considering my idea.

"Your costume needs to stand for what your family represented to the Capitol as well who you are yourself. No simple outfit can do that."

I glance down at the disaster of an outfit in the sketchbook, and stifle a laugh as I wonder how it represents my family or me.

"My grandfather always favored simplicity because it could be elegant. I'm afraid I don't wear a particularly colorful wardrobe."

"Very well," she snaps, "I'll put something else together."

I need to stop her from making something worse.

"Can I help?" I ask. "I'm such a fan of your work, and I would love to see you go through the design process!"

That mollifies her a bit, and she gives me a small smile and agrees to let me work on the dress.

Two hours later, it is almost time for the parade. I'm actually somewhat proud of the dress even though it's not exactly what I wanted. The prep team has emphasized the silver snowflake tattoo on my cheek, and my makeup is fairly minimal. My light blond hair hangs down my back over a fur-edged white cape with the capitol's emblem stamped on it in gleaming silver. I wear a simple floor-length white dress with slight hints of silvery blue and shimmery white, and a silver copy of the golden crown the victors wear. The dress isn't particularly demure or entirely unthreatening, but it isn't awful either.

We each have individual chariots this year. Mine is made of clear plastic, and gives the impression of being made of ice. It's a bit trite to use my last name as a theme, but it's much better than any of Silviana's previous ideas, so I act very enthusiastic about it.

The other tributes are getting into their chariots at the same time. There isn't much talking, though, and most of us stand close to our chariots and our stylists. My prep team fusses with the way my cape drapes over the chariot, and Silviana hands me a button to press once I start moving.

"Don't look at your feet," she whispers. It's kind of her to give me the advice. I spent most of the reaping looking at my feet, so maybe I can get away with looking around.

I contemplate not pressing the button, but I have to work with her for the rest of the week.

I'm the first in the line of chariots, and the horses start moving with a jolt as large doors swing open. I'm back on the chariot driveway, and the stage and roped-off areas are gone. The crowd is staring at me and they are fairly quiet. Some of them mutter, but few of them cheer. I press Silviana's button, and artificial snow begins to fall on me. I give a small smile, and the crowd begins to cheer. I don't know if was because of me or because of my fellow tributes leaving the remake center.

The Panem anthem is playing, and this time, I notice that they have changed some of the words. As the carriages begin to circle around and line up, I survey my fellow tributes. Some of them are laughable. There is a lot of fake fire here and there, and without the districts as a theme, there is a lot of variety in the costumes. Marcus Flickerman is dressed as his father, and it's not a particularly good look on him. The volunteer who shoved me earlier – victory girl – is wearing a purple toga and a crown and dripping in gems. I spot the avox boy dressed in black and Julius wreathed in flames before I turn back to watch President Paylor.

She gives another short speech, and I watch the camera man cut away to show the tributes' faces as she talks. The flames catch my eye as it grows dark, but soon enough I realize that I am glowing softly. It is a beautiful, pearly light that makes the fire look gaudy.

Oh, Silviana, this costume is truly beautiful! I'm worried that making me look good for the parade won't have done her any favors.

Paylor's speech finishes, and the crowd cheers. The chariots begin to move out of the city circle towards the training center. Silviana helps me out of the chariot.

"The dress is lovely, Silviana," I exclaim, "I didn't realize it glowed."

She gives a proud smile, and I really hope they don't kill her for it. I don't think she realizes how much the new government needs to show its power through these games, and they really don't want me to look good.

She walks me over to a tall man with black hair, olive skin, and gray eyes. He wears a government military uniform, and I recognize him from a couple of the news stories on television. He's part of the new government; one of their military commanders in District 2. I also recognize him from before. Katniss' supposed cousin from District 12, Gale Hawthorne. What business could he possibly have here?

"Hello Alexandria, I'm your mentor for the Games."


	6. Chapter 6: Masquerade

"_What are you doing, Ali?" my mother asked._

"_I'm a tribute, Mama! You're supposed to give me a score!"_

_I was four years old, and I ran around the room and jumped as high as I could, waving around a plastic sword. I stopped in front of my mother, to see if she would be impressed._

"_Be careful, Alexandria."_

"_What did I get? What did I get?" I said, still jumping around._

"_I'll give you a twelve, sweetheart," my mother said, distractedly._

_I cheered. I thought I would be the best tribute ever._

* * *

Gale walks with me to the elevators to the top floor. There are only twelve floors for the tributes, so I wonder who my suitemate will be. Gale hasn't said anything yet, and doesn't seem like the talkative type. We get in the elevator and he presses the button for the top floor. For some reason, the silence bothers me.

"So how did you get to be my mentor?" I ask.

"Believe me, I didn't volunteer to babysit you," he replies.

"Oh?" I ask. A bitter mentor who wants to drive away any supporters won't be a good thing. It's not like he has any experience in the games to share with me as a mentor. Since he was close to Katniss, he probably doesn't like me all that much. I wonder what they did for the mentors in the first games when districts didn't have victors.

"Everyone gets a mentor. I was assigned to you, and I will follow the orders I was given, and go back to my regular work once this is."

He sounds like a soldier, though he doesn't strike me as the type. I don't think he'll campaign in my favor, but I never really expected any donors. I don't really need any advice on the games, either, so there's no use in trying to get to know him. Except that he is a member of Paylor's administration, and he's probably important enough that I can tell him about my grandfather's secret. If he trusts me, which he definitely doesn't. And probably won't.

We arrive on the top floor, and I can't help but look around. All the decorations are very modern and in the height of Capitol fashion last year. This was the floor that Katniss and Peeta must have occupied before they left for their games. It doesn't look like much has changed from then. I try to imagine them in this neat room with fashionable furniture and huge glass windows, and I can't really picture it. Gale is looking around, and I wonder if he's thinking about her.

"Your room is through there," he points.

I nod. He sits down and pulls out a tablet.

"Dinner's in an hour." He wants me to leave, but I stay and take a seat on the couch.

"Who shares the suite with us?" I ask.

"Another tribute. I don't know which one."

"Do you hate me?" I need to ask, so I can know how to act around him. He's probably reporting to the government, so I should keep up my pathetic act around him, but I won't be able to win him over that way.

He looks up from his device.

"Yes."

Little to no chance of winning him over, then. I'll have to stick with the pathetic act for the moment. The masquerade is on. I won't be able to let my façade drop until I enter the Games. I paint a half-genuine look of disappointment on my face.

"I'm- I'm sorry," I half stammer. "For whatever it is that happened to make you hate me. Actually most people hate me." All true, though none of that would make me emotional enough to stammer. I turn and run off towards my room as if I'm going to start sobbing, even though I'm not.

I throw on a more comfortable outfit from the selections available in the closet. Then, I lie down on the bed and put my face on the pillow so that anyone walking in will think I'm crying, and go over the other tributes in my mind until I'm called for dinner.

My fellow tribute is at the table with his mentor when I get there. The mentor is a balding member of the government, though not recognizable as Gale was. The tribute is one of the boys that I don't really know. He's about my height, short for a boy unless he's particularly young, with curly blonde hair and dark eyes that I hadn't noticed before. I recall that he was in the third row at the reaping.

I give him a nervous look and then glance away. I'm surprised to see that my seat at the table is next to his. He gives me a nervous glance as well, and then speaks up.

"Hello, I'm Nero."

"I'm Ali," I say quietly with a small smile.

"You scared?"

"Yes." He laughs a little bit at that. I suspect he is terrified and trying to hide it. He doesn't seem like he expected to get picked.

Dinner is a sedate affair. No one talks much after that, except Silviana and the other stylist, Blandina. They keep up an incessant chatter about the costumes at the parade and the reaping, and the crowds' opinion of just about everything that gets the rest of us through dinner.

Two people step up to clear the plates, and I notice that they aren't avoxes. I wonder if they report to anyone, and then remember that it doesn't matter.

The balding mentor, Rowan, speaks up for the first time after the food is cleared away.

"The next three days will be training, followed by your individual assessment. Then you have a day to prepare for your interviews, the day of the interview, and then the Games begin."

It's nothing we don't know, but Nero is nodding as if he needed to hear it, so I nod as well.

"You'll be wearing the uniforms made for tributes from District 12, since the Capitol was wasteful and manufactured a lot of tribute uniforms," remarks Gale.

"The training begins at 10 in the center downstairs," says Rowan.

"Will you show us how to get there?" I ask in an anxious voice.

"It's on the bottom floor. You go out of the elevator, and through the door across the hall," says Gale in a bit of an irritated voice. "Do you really need someone to go with you?"

I contemplate insisting that someone comes with me to hold my hand, but that won't earn me any goodwill, so I don't.

"No, I think I can find it."

"Good."

We don't seem to have a chaperone, unlike previous years, and I suspect that would put too much of a strain on government resources. This Hunger Games must be expensive, and the new government has been pretty disorganized. I'm surprised that they haven't gotten around to doing more than putting trackers into previously wealthy Capitol citizens.

We go to bed almost immediately after that. I don't sleep well, and toss and turn all night. The face of the Julius as he uses his advice to destroy the man intertwines with images from earlier Hunger Games. I see my parents sitting at their table surrounded by the emaciated children I occasionally see in the market except that the faces are the faces of my fellow tributes. I catch a glimpse of my face and then I wake up and realize that it's finally the first day of training.

I slip into the shower and program a long shower that should wake me up. To my surprise, the water is hot. We haven't had hot water at our house for a long time. Once I'm dry, I put on the outfit that has been set out for me with the little number 12 on it. Someone must have thought it ironic to put me in the same clothes as the tribute who played such a huge part in tearing down my grandfather's government.

No one is around as I grab breakfast, and I go back to my room to eat it. I don't want to talk to anyone this morning. Since no one knocks on my door, I suppose no one wants to see me either.

As I line up in the training room, I notice that all of the other tributes are wearing district uniforms as well. Most of them look well fed and soft, though some look like they've missed a lot of meals this winter and others look like they have gained muscle and gotten stronger.

The head trainer explains the training rules to us. Different stations will have experts teaching skills in survival or combat, and we are free to travel from area to area. We can't fight with other tributes, but they have assistants on hand if we want extra practice.

When we are released, I wander around the stations. Nero immediately walks away from me, though we were together in line. At the combat stations, some of the tributes are showing off their skills. Marcus is wearing a uniform with a 7 on it and lifting heavy weights, while victory girl as I have dubbed her is wearing a 2 and throwing knives quickly and accurately. A boy wearing an 8 is shooting arrows, and I recognize Julius fighting hand-to hand with a trainer, wearing a 1. Julius seems to be holding back, but they are all are trying to intimidate the competition.

Other tributes seem to be learning skills for the first time. A trainer is showing the avox boy how to hold an ax, and the two tributes wearing a 10 are learning to make traps.

I walk over to the station that is showing us how to find food in the wilderness. I'm hoping that the spread of nuts, berries, and other plants will give me a clue about where the games will be located, but I am disappointed. The table has plants from all of the districts, and doesn't have an overabundance of plants found in one type of terrain. The trainer is talking to the other girl at the station who has her back to me. She turns around and I recognize Chelsei Lawley, one of my one-time friends from parties, wearing a number 11. I can tell that she recognizes me too, because she glares at me and then turns back to the trainer. The trainer is trying to explain to her that beetle he is holding in his hand is edible, and she is making noises of disgust.

The Gamemakers enter the training area and sit on an elevated dais, observing us from afar, and occasionally beckoning trainers over to talk to them.

I leave the station and wander over to the bow and arrow station. I need to start making more of an impression. More of a negative impression, that is. After listening to the trainer talk about how to hold the bow and how to shoot, I demonstrate everything incorrectly. The poor woman tries to show me how to do it correctly, but I make mistake after mistake. Finally, I am holding the bow correctly, and I begin to shoot arrows. I aim for points on the wall behind the targets, and by the end of my time shooting, I can hit most of the points on the wall fairly consistently. I hit the target once by accident, and the trainer praises me.

Any of the tributes who were looking at me, interested in how I would hold up, have turned away in disgust. No one sits with me at lunch as people try to figure out whom they will ally with. I'm too dangerous to have as an ally, and I apparently don't bring any skills to the table.

The next two days continue in the same way as the first. I sleep poorly at night. I am intentionally awful at almost all of the skills. I learn as much as I can from the trainers about how to do things correctly, storing the information away as make a pathetic attempt to comply with their teachings. I'm pretty sure the training staff thinks I'm hopeless and I'll die on my first day.

There seems to be an alliance forming between Marcus, Chelsei, the victory girl wearing a 2 and the two tributes wearing the number 10. Most of the others seem to be keeping to themselves, or teaming up in pairs or smaller groups.

I have to wait in a side room for all of the others to be called in front of the Gamemakers before I get my turn. For my individual assessment, I lift light weights and then throw knives. I throw five knives and three bounce off the target, one sticks in the target's arm, and one misses entirely. They keep watching me, so I run around the room at a reasonable pace until I trip over a rope that was left on the ground by the ropes station. The Gamemakers dismiss me, and I limp out.

I hope I haven't hurt my ankle before the games, but the pain goes away as I move towards the elevator. I over-exaggerate the limp.

Dinner is already on the table at our suite, and Rowan politely asks us how we thought our individual assessments went. Nero smiles and says that he hopes his went well. I put a slight frown on my face.

"I don't think I did as well as I could have with the knives, but I hope it turns out alright," I say with a slight waver in my voice.

I help myself to the roast lamb with potato gratin that sits on the table, and then grab a seat on the sofa in front of the television between Silviana and Gale. The food here is far better than the canned food I've been eating at home, and I eat swiftly.

Caesar Flickerman appears on the screen to announce the scores. I don't know how Paylor convinced him to announce for the final Hunger Games, but somehow it's actually him. Maybe the Gamemakers have instructions to go easy on Marcus.

Nero and Blandina join us on the sofa as the announcements of the scores begin. Julius is first, and receives an 11. Most of the scores are in the 4-6 range, typical for tributes, but the victory girl and Marcus both get a 10. Nero receives an 8, and I wonder for a moment what he excelled at. He hadn't shown any particular skills in the training sessions. I cross my fingers as my score is announced, and a three flashes on the screen. Not as bad as what I should have gotten, but low enough that I won't be considered a threat. I'm happy, but I put on a look of dismay.

Silviana tries to cheer me up, "Scores only matter if they're good. No one will pay attention to yours. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents."

"But I'm not that good, Silviana," I say, "I just don't know what I can do."

She gives me a quick hug. Silviana's a bit caught up in the games, but she's a sweet person, and her personality is growing on me.

Gale says nothing and doesn't even glance up from his spot on the couch.

I congratulate Nero, and escape to my room. I'm stressed, and I wonder if I would have compared to these tributes, even if I had done my best. I finally drift off, exhausted after sleeping poorly the last several nights. I don't sleep much better, and I am awake in time to watch dawn rise over the Capitol from my bedroom.

I wonder what is going on at home. Have my parents even registered my absence? If they have noticed anything, I'm sure it's my poor performance in training, or even my dress at the reaping. They seem to be caught up in a world of their own imagination, and I wonder how long it will take before that all falls apart. They wouldn't even think of running away, even if they didn't have a tracker. I'm not sure how long the guard will be left at our door before they decide that it's too expensive to keep Capitol citizens from coming in to our house and killing us. Maybe the government will get around to confiscating our house and belongings first.

I wonder what Sabina would say about my score of a 3. She would probably just smile and tell me that the higher-scoring tributes will be targeted first anyways, and I would smile back.

I get up, throw on clothes from the closet, and make my way out to the breakfast area. Gale is already there, and his plate is empty.

"I'll be coaching you on your interview today," he says.

I nod, and eat quickly. He can't possibly have enough advice for me to take an entire day for coaching.

We move to another room at in the suite and Gale just watches me until he finally asks, "How do you want to present yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you can't come across as terrified for the interview, or you'll have no chance at all. Haven't you watched the interviews before the Games?"

"I've watched them."

"If you're going to make anything of this, even with your three, you need to have a personality. Even if you're hiding your skills, you won't be able to get any sponsors without a good interview."

"I don't think I'm going to get any sponsors anyway."

"Give it a try."

He asks me practice interview questions for a couple hours, and has me practice being sweet, or funny, or fierce, or sexy. I actually do try to follow his instructions, and make my way through most of the interview questions. He's being nicer to me than he has been since I first met him.

I pull off sweet well enough, but I'm a disaster at the rest of them. I am most definitely not funny, sexy, or fierce. I try being mysterious and aloof, and that also works, but I decide to settle for sweet. It will stand out less.

Gale isn't particularly talkative, and once I make a decision, the practice session ends. I appreciate his attempt at being a mentor, though he clearly isn't at all excited about it.

It's evening, and I find my way through a door that I hadn't seen before. It leads to a garden on the rooftop that looks out over the city. I can see the patches that indicate a force field around the roof, so I don't have to wonder what keeps tributes from jumping off. I eat my dinner on the roof, and go to my room and fall into a deep sleep.

I wake up early again, filled with nervous energy and completely aware that it's my last day before the Games. My prep team works on me until late afternoon, painting silver snowflakes on the rest of me, erasing the signs of my tiredness, and turning my hair into soft curls.

Silviana, brings in the dress, and helps me climb in to it. The bodice is made of tiny little reflective mirrors, with white fabric tying them together. The mirrors grow further and further on the skirt until the bottom becomes huge mass of white fabric. I can barely move, but I thank Silviana anyways.

Gale and Silviana escort me to the stage where I take my seat as the interviews begin. I am second to last.

Caesar Flickerman bounces on to the stage, with a youthful spring in his step. He's in his sixties, but he looks like a much younger man. His hair is colored a deep evergreen, and his lips are a matching hue. He warms the audience up and then begins the interviews.

A little dark-haired girl sitting in the first chair steps up on to the stage. She's wearing a pale pink frock, and she looks like she can't be older than twelve. I recognize her as she sits down across from Caesar. Somehow, I must have missed her name as it was called in the reaping, because I'm surprised to see her here. The family resemblance makes it hard not to recognize Valeria Flickerman now as she sits down across from her father.

I add up the numbers in my head. She must have just turned twelve in March, I think, and I feel sorry for her. I glance at Marcus, but his expression is guarded. Her interview is short and sweet, and her father hugs her before she returns to her seat.

Julius' interview is a bit hard to watch. Caesar asks him about his family and Capitol life, but Julius only gives monosyllabic answers and has a threatening demeanor. Fairly quickly, the interview is over. Each interview only takes three minutes before a buzzer sounds, and the next tribute takes the stage. I sit calmly as the interviews slip by.

The victory girl acts cunning and ruthless during her interview. A translator walks on to the stage to help the Avox boy for his interview. He comes across as confident, and determined. Marcus plays up the angle of a ruthless assassin, while Chelsei wears a sexy costume, and acts mysterious.

Finally it's my turn. My name is called, and Caesar asks me what I think of finally being in the games after years of watching them. The whole audience is watching me.

"I'm- I'm a bit nervous, really," I finally say. The audience is quiet.

"Do you have a favorite year for the Hunger Games?" he asks.

"I was definitely impressed the year both Katniss and Peeta won!" I can tell it's the right answer. The crowd cheers.

"I definitely was too," Caesar says. "Katniss was on fire from the start! Do you have a strategy for the games?"

"I don't really have too much worked out yet."

"And if you knew, I bet you wouldn't tell me! We'll just have to wait and see, right folks?" He winks, and the crowd cheers again. "So can you tell me about your life in the Capitol? Did you have any hobbies? What about a boyfriend?"

"No boyfriend, Caesar. I love to read in my free time, though I didn't have too much of it. I was pretty focused on my coursework, and attending events with my family. I was pretty excited when I finally got to meet Katniss on the Victory Tour. I'm pretty sure I dropped my plate of food right down the front of my dress because I was so excited."

The crowd laughs.

"Any words for your friends and family at home?"

"Not really. I'm going to miss you all!"

I try not to run as I head back to my seat. My interview was over, and it wasn't a complete disaster. I barely hear what Nero is saying as he finishes his interview. The Panem anthem plays, and we all stand. There's no hand holding amongst us, as there was the year before. We all walk off the stage and head back to the training center.

I order a bunch of food to my room because I don't want to watch the replays of the interviews with everyone else. I take the food up to the roof once it arrives and lie there looking at the stars. I wonder if they'll cover the arena so that I can't see the real night sky.

I can hear the click of the door as someone comes to join me on the roof. They sit down on by the corner of the building. I look up, and I can see that it's Gale. His silhouette is blacking out the lights of the city below him. The Capitol doesn't have as much as it used to after the revolution, but the unmistakable sounds of parties still reach my ears.

"Any last words of advice?" I ask, without getting up. He's not surprised when I speak up, so he must have seen me when I came up here.

"You should probably get some sleep."

I laugh. I've been pretending to be anxious all week, but tonight, I'm really too nervous to sleep.

"Couldn't miss the party," I say. He just looks at me, then turns back to face the city.

Finally he sighs, and mutters, "Nothing is changing fast enough."

I don't think he expects a reply, but I agree. I wonder if he could trust me, and before I can think better of it, I ask, "Have you ever wondered why we never tried to fly to the moon? To really understand reason behind how the hovercrafts work, and not just how to keep them from breaking or build better ones?"

He turns around to face me.

"I'm working on building things like that right now. Better hovercrafts, and advanced weapons. It's slow going, but we're making progress."

I try not to blurt out that he should stop. He should hide his research and continue it only in secret.

Finally, I say, "Most people hated my grandfather, but he played a dangerous game. See, we're not the only ones who survived the first war. Not the fight between 13 and the Capitol, but the real war, the one that ended the society that once knew how to put together hovercrafts and all sorts of things we'll never really find out. The problem is, we're not the only ones who made it. Panem isn't alone, but the first war fractured society even more than it was before. Some people struggled, but others survived and thrived and became immensely powerful. They have technology that we can't even grasp yet! But those advanced societies, they watch us and all of the other struggling groups. They don't really need our land, so they leave us alone for the moment, but if we ever look like we could be a real threat, there's no telling what they'll do."

Gale is standing over me now, his face utterly serious.

"How do you know this?"

"Grandfather – well, it was really a freak accident that he found out. He found someone who had crash landed in Panem and picked them up for questioning. It was a good thing he asked them questions right after they were captured because that night, they escaped and he never saw them again. Nothing in the high-security cell was out of place, and no one saw them leave. It was a bit of an accident that I found out, too. One night, I hid in my grandfather's garden to get away from my duties at a party, and my whole world changed. He used to talk to his roses as he gardened. I found out about a year ago, but there wasn't much I could do about all of it with the war going on. And now, well, I tried to meet with President Paylor, but it's not like anyone trusts me."

Gale is still watching me, and his stance is tense.

"Be careful who you tell," I say.

He turns and leaves the roof. I think he believed me in the end, but maybe he thinks it's the ravings of a pathetic crazy girl who has cracked the night before the Hunger Games. I hope he's careful.

I'm still lying on my back thinking about the night I overheard things, but my mind jumps back to the Games. I'm afraid now, that I didn't do enough with the time I had. Maybe, just maybe, I could have figured out something to fix things, or at least to help, but these Games! They were supposed to be a distraction, a mask to hide the evolution of a society behind, but I'm afraid the games stand for something much more than that now.

We needed to look for a way go beyond day to day survival, because some day, that won't be enough. In the meantime, we throw this party, this wild festival to celebrate our barbarian nature, and the world watches. I know my grandfather experimented and made plan after plan before casting them aside. The Districts stayed under careful control because the Games thrive on hope. They thrive on the hope that somehow, we'll be able to make it, no matter how slim the odds. I wish we could have built something better than a cruel and gaudy façade for the people of Panem. I know the chances are tiny, really, but that was my dream. A Panem without the Games that won't be crushed for daring to research and innovate. The Games are ending, but I'm not sure that they'll be able to figure out the rest.

It doesn't matter. I'm out of time for dreams.

I wanted to be a Gamemaker when I was younger. Maybe that was a better dream, because even though I was a bit of a messed up, emotionless kid, at least I stood a real chance of making it happen. Doesn't matter much any more. I'll probably die tomorrow morning.

This is the end game. Only a couple of moves left. Just a couple of moments to see if I'll stand firm or lose everything.

I remember watching so many tributes take their stands as the clock counted down in the arena. 1,724 kids died in the first seventy-four games, but that number seems small after the war. I watch the stars and try to count 1,724 little dots in the sky, but I lose count before I get far.

This game is cheap to play. It only costs my life. I'm not sure that's worth much anymore, and lives are fragile.

Panem is broken already, and maybe there isn't enough substance left to fix. But as I watch the people moving under the dim lights below, I change my mind. There's something there. A seed of determination that's enough to make it against hopeless odds.

No, the odds never were in any of our favor. Some people never saw it. Some of my peers are just figuring it out, now that they're in the Hunger Games. Others had to accept it from the beginning. In the Capitol, we're good at pretending, and I'd like to think I put on a good show.

This game costs too much. I don't want to sacrifice who I am and what I want to achieve for a stupid game. I'm a rational person, and I'm not really a murderer, but I'm worried the Games will force me to change.

The rooftop is cold and windy and dark. For a moment, I want to stand on the ledge and pretend I can fly away and escape all of my problems in the night.

I used to think games were fun.

I can hear a scream in the distance. The night is dangerous.

Games are cruel. Someone always loses.

I turn towards the door so I can go to bed. I won't do well tomorrow without sleep, and tomorrow morning will determine a great deal. Enough pessimism.

I will win.


	7. Chapter 7: Let the Games Begin

_For my 12__th__ birthday, my parents took me to see the arena from the 50__th__ Hunger Games. There was a lovely hotel over the catacombs, and I could see the Cornucopia from my room._

_It was a beautiful arena, and the fresh air smelled incredible. There were walking paths that directed tourists towards all the interesting sites. I got to see the lava from the volcano's explosion, and walk around the quiet crater. There was a cute information display about how the Gamemakers manufactured the volcano._

_I saw the spot where Maysilee Donner died in the afternoon, and then followed the path to the location of Haymitch's final battle. The damaged hedge that marked the edge of the arena was still in the same shape it was when he cut through it, and the force field was still in place. I watched a couple of other tourists toss coins into the void and laugh as they flew back._

_I followed the path back to the hotel for dinner as evening started to fall and the arena grew colder. The food was wonderful._

* * *

Silviana wakes me up in the morning, and gives me a simple set of clothes to wear before she escorts me to the roof. I'm still a bit asleep because of my late night, but the noise of the descending hovercraft wakes me up. A ladder drops down, and I reach out and place my hands and feet on the lower rungs. I try to climb, but it's as if my entire body is frozen. The ladder is withdrawn back into the hovercraft, and I go with it.

A woman in a white coat approaches me with a syringe while I'm still stuck to the ladder, but a man in a white coat tells her I'm fine. I frown, and then realize that they were discussing my tracker and I'm now free from the current that froze me to the ladder. I step back, and the ladder descends to collect Silviana.

Breakfast is laid out inside the hovercraft, and I try to eat and drink as much as I can. I doubt I'll eat well in the arena. The food tastes like cardboard in my mouth, but I force myself to keep eating.

I watch out the window as the Capitol drops away from the hovercraft. From the air, the damage to the city looks small, and manageable, though here and there are spots where streets are completely destroyed. Then we leave the city behind as we travel east. I keep track of the direction from the sun and how note the direction of our course. My mind is desperate to find any details that could help me in the arena, and I am automatically thinking of the kinds of plants that I probably won't find in the arena since they usually grow near the Capitol. Then again, the Gamemakers are unpredictable, and the arena's location doesn't always mean something.

The ride lasts for an hour before the windows black out and the sound of the hovercraft changes in pitch. Silviana and I go back down the ladder into the catacombs beneath the arena. We follow the directions that lead us to my launch room, and get there quickly. I don't see anyone else in the concrete hallways, but I imagine that there are soldiers somewhere in the compound.

There's a shower, sink, and a table containing even more food in my launch room. A clock on the wall counts down the time in red digital letters. I shower quickly, thinking that this is the last time I will ever really be clean. The clothes arrive while I am showering. Silviana helps me dress in the undergarments, sturdy brown pants, a light green shirt, a dark chocolate colored belt, and a gray and green patterned jacket with a hood.

My hair hangs long down my back and Silviana helps me put it up in to a bun so that it won't get in my way in the arena. I play with the material of the jacket and realize that it is both heat reflective and waterproof. It must get cold in the arena. The boots are made of a soft brown leather with a padded rubber sole to make running easier. The clock announces in big red lights that there are ten minutes remaining.

I move around a bit to get used to the clothes. The jacket makes a rustling noise as I move, but the boots are silent on the concrete floor. I pace around the room, reviewing ideas and strategies for when I rise out of the room. A glass cylinder stands open in the corner of the room, and I know it's meant for me.

I sip a glass of water and pick at the food. I'm too nervous to eat much more. Five minutes remaining. I go back to pacing.

"Good luck," Silviana whispers, giving me a hug. One minute left.

I step into the cylinder, and it seals itself shut. I can see Silviana sitting uncomfortably in one of the chairs as the clock continues to count down. The moment it reaches zero, the cylinder begins to rise.

I look straight up at the light, maybe thirty feet above me. I need my eyes to adjust quickly. The cylinder rises up, and then stops while the plate under my feet continues to push me up and out of the tunnel into the fresh air.

The air smells fresh and clean, with a hint of smoke. The scene around me is familiar in a horrific kind of way. I stand on a pedestal in the Capitol city center, with ruined buildings all around me. My fellow tributes are spaced evenly around the toppled obelisk, and the inside has been hollowed out, and filled with platters of food and cakes. Weapons are stacked on chairs, and scattered around the Cornucopia. There is no wilderness here, just gray city rubble.

A voice booms around me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"


	8. Chapter 8: Cornucopia

"_See that?" A heavyset Gamemaker with an obtrusive mustache pointed to a round, flat table in the center of the room. I was ten, and my grandfather had insisted that the Gamemakers give me a tour of their facilities. That was back when I still wanted to be a Gamemaker._

"_That's where we display our model of the arena. The tributes show up as little red dots on the table, so we can track where they're going. If we want to look at a tribute more closely, all we have to do is click on their number from one of our screens, and we can see them from lots of different angles."_

_I walked up to the table to look at the arena. Only some of the sections of the arena were shown on the table, probably because the sixtieth annual Hunger Games hadn't started yet, and they were still putting finishing touches on the arena._

"_How does it work? Can you just start fires and make mountains erupt whenever you want to?"_

"_No, we have to set that stuff up in advance. We think about all the things we might want to make happen, and then make sure the right equipment is in place so we can make it happen. We put firestarters all over most of the arenas, and we control the height of the ground beneath the arena, so we can make most things fall over if we want to."_

_I sat down in one of the Gamemakers' chairs and spun around, taking it all in._

"_This is awesome!"_

* * *

A ticking sound reverberates around the semicircle as a clock begins counting down. Sixty seconds before I can move off of this pedestal without being blown sky high.

I assess the scene. Most of the food and weapons are in the opening of the hollowed-out obelisk, but some items are scattered a bit closer to each of the tributes to convince us to head for the Cornucopia. A couple of paces in front of me, a knife lies on the ground, and a several more paces little to the left is a berry tart. I look over everything again, and realize that one thing is missing: survival gear. The Cornucopia is full of weapons and rich foods, but there are no tents, sleeping bags, water bottles, or backpacks. All of this rich food will probably spoil in no more than a day, and there's no sign of canned food, dried fruit, or nuts that will last a while.

I look around. Behind me lie the ruins of the Presidential office building. A couple of doors are still undamaged on the bottom level, but that seems a sure way to be trapped. To my right, the ruins of the training center seem to be in a similar shape. I wonder if there will be any weapons left in the training center, but it too seems risky to check. The road between the training center and the Presidential building doesn't seem to be blocked, but it's hard to tell from my vantage point. Directly in front of me, the Cornucopia stands between my pedestal and the long flat chariot driveway. If I were closer to the driveway, I would head in that direction, but I don't have that luxury.

"Ten."

Ten seconds left. I glance around at my fellow tributes.

"Nine."

On my left, victory girl leans towards the Cornucopia, ready to sprint into the midst of the fight.

"Eight."

Beyond her, a boy stands still, looking around in confusion. Nero stands past him, smiling at the Cornucopia.

"Seven."

On my right, a boy I don't recognize is facing away from the Cornucopia, and beyond him, little Valeria Flickerman stands uncertainly.

"Six."

Marcus is part of the way across the semicircle of tributes, and is taking a running stance, ready to bolt towards the Cornucopia.

"Five."

I notice Chelsei next to Marcus in a similar pose. Julius is on the other side of the semicircle, also leaning towards the Cornucopia. I don't see avox boy near him.

"Four."

The knife in front of me is so close. It could make the difference between my survival and death.

"Three."

Victory girl is ten paces from the knife, and I'm sure I could beat her there. She won't chase me when I run because she'll be drawn in to the Cornucopia.

"Two."

The boy on my right is facing away from the Cornucopia, so he won't fight me for it. I'll take the knife and run.

"One."

I'll get the knife and run towards the road between the ruined training center and Presidential building, and put as much distance between myself and the Cornucopia as possible.

The gong rings out, and I move towards the knife.

I grab the hilt, and turn towards my right, heading for the road. A boy blocks my way, and I recognize the other volunteer from the reaping. I don't remember his training score. I wave the knife in his face, and he takes a half-step back. I can see another boy running towards us, so I move towards the boy in my way, stabbing him in the shoulder with my knife.

He turns sideways to clutch his shoulder, and I push past him. He catches my arm, and I pull away from him until I tug my way free and sprint towards the road. I can see him start to chase me as I look over my shoulder, his pain showing on his face. I sprint even faster towards the road, glancing back again as I reach the corner between the training center and the Presidential building. The other boy has stopped him, and they are moving back towards the Cornucopia.

I don't think anyone is following me anymore, but I still need to move fast. The road ahead is filled with debris, but isn't completely blocked. I don't know if the Gamemakers have placed traps on the streets like those used in the war, but a tribute with a dark ponytail is running down the street ahead of me, so the road doesn't seem unsafe at the moment.

I don't know how big this arena is, but I want to get out of the city if I can. There isn't much for me to survive on, and it's not safe to stay near the Cornucopia. I need to find a real source of food and water, and start working on my plan before the Gamemakers kill me. I decide to head towards the Capitol's financial and trade sector, since the buildings in the arena have been accurate (albeit damaged) replicas of the buildings I know. There's a river, with docks for some of the barges that come in with goods from District 4, so I should be able to find water, if not a way out of this ruined city.

I turn on to a different street, which seems to also be clear. I start throwing small rocks ahead of me to trigger any traps I might be running into, since I have lost sight of the dark-haired girl. Twice, I find my way blocked with walls of rubble. I am in the middle of a maze made out of ruined Capitol buildings. I hope there's some other source of food, or we'll all starve to death. Maybe our audience from the Districts will find it funny to watch Capitol citizens starving.

I'm in the middle of the financial district, heading towards the docks when the ruined buildings start to grow shorter and shorter until they're about my height. I turn a corner to see a field of rubble and a wire fence in the distance. I'm disappointed. The docks aren't part of this arena, so I have no idea where I'll find water. I glance around, and because I don't see anyone in sight, I decide to go all the way to the fence to make sure that it really is the arena's boundary.

The fence is tall, about twice as tall as I am, and a sign reads 'District 0 Boundary. Stay clear.' Beyond the fence, a large field stretches out, and I can see trees in the distance. The fence is topped with barbed wire, and a hum coming from the direction of the fence indicates that the fence is electric. I don't see any signs of a force field near the fence, and I am surprised. The Gamemakers can't possibly expect a simple electric fence to keep us in the arena.

I decide to jog along the fence, looking for some sort of water or food source. I note several weak spots in the fence as I go, areas where wire is missing, or damaged. After a while, I reach a point where the tall fence ends, and a slightly shorter electric fence begins. The new fence looks almost pathetic next to the taller one. It isn't topped with barbed wire, and the wires are spaced further apart and sag in places. Another fence separates the areas blocked off by the two different fences, separating the grain fields from a hilly terrain covered in trees. The shorter fence has the same sign on it.

I peer through the shorter fence at the additional fence separating the two areas I can't reach, and I can see a sign. Squinting, I can make out the words 'District 12 Boundary. Stay clear.' Interesting. The terrain inside the area fenced off by the shorter fence does seem like the woods around District 12. The grain fields in the area blocked off by the taller fence look a lot like District 11. I haven't reached the edge of the arena, but I'm still stuck on the same side of the fence as the Cornucopia.

I continue to run along the shorter electric fence, stopping every so often to walk for a while. I'm beginning to suspect that these fenced off areas are also part of the arena, but I'm not sure how to get over the fences.

The sun is high in the sky when I begin to hear the cannons. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia must have ended. Some group now has control of all of the supplies in the toppled obelisk. I clutch my knife even tighter and stop next to the fence, catching my breath as I count the cannons. One… Two… Three… and so on until they reach nine. Fifteen of us left to play. I wonder if Valeria Flickerman made it, picturing her little body lying bloody in the rubble, and my mental image is replaced with the face of the boy I stabbed. I'll know who made it when the images of the dead show up in the sky around dusk.

I continue in my direction along the fence, but I'm getting hot and tired. I estimate that I have been moving for something around four hours, and I'm already getting dehydrated. I haven't seen anyone so far, but also I haven't found anything that could be a source of food or water either.

I'm wondering if I can somehow sneak through a gap in this shorter fence without getting electrocuted when the humming stops. I move closer to the fence, and I can't hear anything.

I need a test to make sure the fence won't kill me. The ground on the other side of the fence is moist, so I carefully put my hand through the fence and pull a wet stick over to my side without touching the wires of the fence. I plant one end of the stick into the ground, and then release the top of the stick so it falls on to the wires of the fence. Nothing. I am free to cross the fence.

I slip through the gap where the wires sag in the fence and step on to the moist ground. I'm guessing the Gamemakers control when the fences are on or off and have some sort of rotating schedule. That won't stop them from lighting this area on fire and making me run straight in to a turned-on electric fence. It's time to start making it harder for the Gamemakers to control me.

It's a bit cooler and more humid on this side of the fence. As I set off at a brisk walk, I collect a heaping handful of rocks from the ground. I survey my surroundings carefully, though I'm pretty sure none of my fellow tributes have made it into this area so far. No signs of running water yet, but the damp ground leaves me hopeful. Occasionally I throw a rock into the foliage as I walk.

I'm actually looking for cameras. When I toured the Gamemaker facilities, I got a pretty good sense for the places where cameras are usually placed. I've found seven of them so far, and I've managed to hit five of them with rocks. Hopefully, they'll think it's just bad luck since I'm also throwing rocks at random. Especially after I used the rocks on the streets of the arena's Capitol.

The shadows are growing longer when I finally reach a stream. The water looks clear, but that won't stop the bacteria that could contaminate it. I don't have much choice and I'm really thirsty, so I stop and dip my hands in to the water, cupping my hands to bring the water to my mouth.

Once I've had enough water, I look around. It's getting late and I should start looking for a place to sleep. I don't have a good way to carry water around with me, so I should try to find a place by the stream. That way, I at least have a source of water. So far, I've only seen a couple of plants that may be edible, aside from the pine trees that surround me. I'm already hungry, and I'm not excited about eating pine bark, so I look around for anything else. There are squirrels in the trees, but I have no wire or string, and I didn't listen to all of the programs on trapping, so I probably won't be able to catch any. Finally I come across some wild asparagus, and I pick some of the cattails growing by the stream, pulling up their roots. They look unappetizing, but I carry them with me. When I get hungry enough, I'll be glad to have them.

I'm far enough from the Cornucopia that I don't think anyone who is hunting at night will find me, but I can't be certain. The fence should help a bit, even if it isn't on. I walk along the stream, looking for good climbing trees or caves to spend the night.

Finally, I find a large tree with plenty of low hanging branches, and I start to climb. I sandwich myself in the crevice where the tree splits to form three large branches. I try to lay my head down on the flattest one, but feel distinctly uncomfortable. A colony of ants is making its way down one of the branches, and some of the ants crawl over my jacket.

The sunset is the color of a bruise in the sky through the trees when the anthem begins to play. The orange light with hints of green fades into a dark blue, purple, and black where the seal of the District Alliance is displayed. The anthem ends, and faces begin to appear in the sky. The pictures we see are simple, usually taken during the tribute parade, while the viewers at home and in the districts get to watch a replay of the tribute's death.

Two faces of girls I vaguely recognize shine in the sky, followed by the face of the other female volunteer, the one who volunteered to replace Sabina. Two more girls' faces shines in the sky before they start showing the boys who died. First is the face of the boy I stabbed in the shoulder, and then the boy who pulled him back towards the Cornucopia. So they did die after all. I wonder if they would have made it if I hadn't stabbed the boy who stood in my way. I never even knew their names.

The third boy in the sky was the one from the back row in the reaping, and the final face in the sky is that of the boy who was good with the bow and arrows at our first training session. It must not have helped him much at the Cornucopia. The projection in the sky is replaced with the new seal of Panem, and the music plays before the sky goes black.

Nine tributes dead. Five girls and four boys. My odds should be better with only fifteen tributes left to play, but I don't think the Gamemakers will let me out of here, so I'll have to find another way to survive. An ant crawls across my face, and I flick it off. I put my head down on the uncomfortable branch and close my eyes.


	9. Chapter 9: Strangers

Author's Note: Readers are advised that the next several chapters take a somewhat darker and more violent tone due to the nature of the Hunger Games.

* * *

_The war was over. We were confined to our house until we got trackers, and I wasn't allowed see Grandfather. My parents and I were sitting on the couch to watch his execution on television since we weren't allowed to be anywhere near him. I wasn't sure what they were keeping us alive for, but a part of me hoped that the new President Coin would let us go. It would set a good example just in case she were ever overthrown._

_I sat between my parents, clutching my knees to my chest. My parents sat as still as statues while President Coin read her speech and Katniss walked to the stand with a single arrow in her sheath._

_I didn't believe that Grandfather could kill so many of our children for no reason. I still don't. At least the Hunger Games had a point._

_Grandfather was coughing on the broadcast as they tied him to a post. He didn't look well, and I worried for him. Which was foolish, since he was about to be executed. I watched as the Mockingjay drew back her arrow, aiming it at Grandfather. My knuckles were white around my knees. I watched as that arrow, meant for my Grandfather shot right off the screen, and the cameraman adjusted the camera just in time to capture President Coin toppling off of the balcony. There was a pandemonium on the screen as soldiers swarmed onto the stage. When the crowd finally cleared, it was evident that Grandfather was dead._

_I was told later that my grandfather died chocking on his own blood. My parents sat still and expressionless throughout the entire thing. I left and went to my room afterwards. I felt numb. I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. It was a long time before I left my room after that._

* * *

My head hurts. I take my hair out of its bun, but that doesn't make my spot in the tree any more comfortable. I think I've been asleep for a couple of hours, and I feel stiff and achy all over. It's still dark out, and it's much colder than it was before. I'm not sure what exactly woke me up. It could have been the cold, but I still hold as still as a statue and listen for the sounds of any other tributes.

Nothing.

It must have been the cold, then. I still get the uneasy feeling that someone is watching me, and I put my hand on my knife. I can't see much in the dark, but I don't think there were any flashlights or night vision glasses in the Cornucopia, so it would be hard for anyone to see me. I'm not enough of a threat for anyone to directly target me this early in the games.

There's a camera in the branch above me. It's fully functional and I smash the lens with the hilt of my knife. The Gamemakers will probably have figured out exactly what I'm up to, but they won't know why yet. They'll probably try to find some way to keep me moving so they always have eyes on me. In that case, it's best to already be on the move so that they don't need to come up with a way to motivate me to move.

I don't feel well rested, but I won't be able to sleep any more. I sit up and check on my asparagus and cattails, finally stuffing them in my pocket. They still don't look particularly appetizing. The ants apparently crawled on the plants while I was asleep, so I have to brush them off. My stomach gives an uncomfortable rumble. It's dark though, so I can't afford a fire to cook the plants and make them any more palatable.

I start to climb down to the ground. I slip off of a knot in the tree and fall the few remaining feet to the ground. Clutching my jacket tight, I head over to the stream and drink until I can't drink anymore. I'm still feeling alright, so I the stream probably isn't poisoned. Probably. I won't know if there's bacteria contaminating the steam for a week or so, and I suppose it would be a good thing if I were still alive at that point.

I make my way towards the fence. The District 12 terrain is quiet, and I don't see any signs of other tributes in the dark. I trip a couple of times on my way towards the fence, but no one jumps out of the bushes at the sound. It feels like I am moving for an eternity before I arrive at the fence.

I listen carefully, and I don't hear the humming sound that indicates that the fence is on. I continue along the District 12 side of the fence, heading away from the District 11 terrain. If anyone encounters the fence, they'll have to determine whether or not it is actually on, which would give me the couple of seconds of advantage I would need over an adversary. I'm hoping that I'll eventually arrive at terrain similar to the other districts if I keep walking.

Sure enough, I arrive at a fence marking the end of the District 12 terrain. This fence is taller than even the District 11 fence and is making the humming sound that indicates that it is on. I notice the shimmering patches of force fields above the fences. There's no way to jump or leap over from a tree, then.

I slip under the short fence back in to the Capitol terrain and then examine the fence bordering the District 13 area. It's definitely taller and stronger, but there are some weaker areas. The fence between the Capitol and the terrain from 13 is off, so I slip under the wires into an area that looks like the woods around District 13. I can hear the call of animals all around me, which sounds promising.

It's hard to spot cameras in the dark, but I continue damaging as many of them as I can spot. The only thing that marks the time is the distance I cover, and the slight brightening of the sky. The night is almost over. I'm in the midst of smashing a lens hidden in the knot of a tree when I hear a piercing scream nearby.

I'm instantly alert. Glancing around wildly, I climb a little ways up the nearest tree. Not so far up that I can't jump down, but far enough that it would be hard to catch me by surprise.

Another scream, this time closer. I'm breathing quickly, my hand clenched around the handle of my knife. I can hear someone sobbing as they move closer to me, rustling the bushes.

In the weak light before dawn, Valeria Flickerman stumbles into the clearing near my tree. She looks practically feral. Her hair is matted in clumps, and her movements are agitated and desperate. She trips and falls to the ground, her sobs muffled by her landing, and then immediately staggers to her feet again, glancing around.

I look and listen for any signs of pursuit, but there isn't anything. No one seems to be after her. She seems to be weak, and I could probably kill her with my knife.

I instantly reject the thought. It would be so wrong. She seems so small and frail, and I don't think I could do it. Killing her would risk Marcus' wrath and wouldn't bring me any closer to making it out of this arena anyways. The Gamemakers would probably want me to killed her. It would make me seem like even more of a villain before they kill me.

I can't move from my position without alerting Valeria to my presence and she isn't leaving the clearing. She is standing backed up against a tree, waving a stick frantically. I could reveal myself to her. She probably could potentially give me information about the arena, and I hate sitting in this tree and watching her suffer. I doubt she could hurt me if she wanted to, but this could be a trap.

Dawn slowly breaks over the arena as I watch for signs of any other tributes. Valeria remains backed up against the tree, muttering with her eyes wide. Now that there's more light, I can see tons of tiny cuts all over her arms and face. She has left her jacket behind somewhere, and is still clutching her stick. I can't tell if the dark substance matted in her hair is mud or blood.

Finally, I climb down from my perch. When she hears me approach, she goes still, staring at me. She points the stick at me as is it could ward me off.

"Valeria."

She continues to stare at me, her eyes wide. Her small frame is tense.

"Ria, what happened?" I ask.

"They're coming."

"Who is coming? Did you leave Marcus?"

"The strangers. They're coming, and they take pieces. You have to hide in a circle." Her voice is earnest and desperate, as if she is pleading with me.

I reach towards her, but she waves her stick towards me. Her whole body is trembling. The arena is still fairly cold, but I think something significantly worse is bothering her.

"What do you mean, they take pieces?"

She holds up her left hand, and I can see that her pinky finger is missing. It isn't cut off cleanly, but it looks as if it has been torn off. I glance at the ground to stop the bile from rising in my throat. I want to cry or throw up, I don't know which.

"It's okay, Ria. I'll help you." I rip a strip from my shirt to try and wrap around her hand. I approach her slowly, and this time she doesn't wave her stick. She holds still long enough for me to wrap the fragment of my shirt around her hand. I don't know what to do. The training programs I watched never talked about this.

"Ria, do you remember what happened?" I ask.

"I was at the place with the feast, and my brother said he would take care of me. Everyone was fighting and there was so much red, but finally they said we won. The red stopped flying through the air, and everything was quiet. We ate and got all the stuff we wanted, but then the strangers took over. Everything was bad and I had to run, and everything was melting. The strangers got everyone, and they came for me…"

Her voice grows quieter until she is only muttering. As she mutters, Valeria arranges the sticks and dirt around us to form a circle on the ground. I'm confused and concerned. Valeria is normally much more calm and articulate, but these 'strangers' she talks about must be making her panic.

"What do the strangers look like?"

"I have to make circles. Circles can protect us from the strangers. I can see them coming because I know they want to hurt me." Valeria starts to make smaller circles around our circle, her hands shaking.

"It's important, Valeria. I need to know what the strangers look like to fight them." I keep my voice calm to disguise my anxiety.

"They look like us." Valeria looks at me with wide eyes, finally done drawing circles. She fidgets and paces anxiously inside the circle she has made.

Mutts, maybe. But the Gamemakers wouldn't be able to make mutts that look like us so quickly or easily.

"What happened to everyone else at the Cornucopia?"

"The strangers got them. I have to count now, to keep them away. One, two, three…" Her counting continues quietly until she reaches the number of circles she has drawn. Then she starts over again.

There's another possibility. Poison. It would explain why Valeria is so confused, and why she is so insistent that circles and counting could possibly help us.

"They're here!" she says. I look around, but I don't see anything.

"You have to count with me, or it won't work. They're coming! Ali, please!" Valeria is frantic, glancing around the clearing. There's nothing in the clearing. The area is silent except for the steady sounds of animals and the harsh breathing of my companion. I count quietly to humor Valeria. She is waving her stick around as if she is fending off invisible opponents.

"No. No. Noo!" Valeria screams, but there's nothing in the clearing. Nothing except a twelve year old girl losing her mind in front of me. She falls to the ground, thrashing, then pulls herself up after several moments.

Valeria stares at me in horror. "You're one of them! No, no, leave me alone. Don't hurt me, please!"

I back away slowly. She doesn't recognize me.

"Ria, It's me, Ali, remember? I'm not going to hurt you. Take deep breaths, okay, and try to calm down."

"No, you're trying to trick me so you can hurt me more. Stop, stop, NO!"

I haven't moved, but Valeria grows more and more panicked.

"Help me, someone, please, no!" She is sobbing now, but she points her stick in my direction, so I don't dare move any closer to try and help her. She falls to the ground again, and this time, her whole body seizes. I move closer, but I don't know what to do.

Finally, she stops moving. I reach to take her pulse, and find nothing. I keep searching for a pulse. A cannon sounds, startling me. She is dead. I reach over and close her eyes with my fingertips. Mechanically, I search her body for supplies, and pocket some string and half of a cake wrapped in paper, and then start running. Something is poisoning the tributes. I think I'm okay, but I don't know if I can trust my own judgment any more.

Valeria mentioned 'strangers' taking people over. Could everyone who ate at the Cornucopia have been poisoned? It does seem like the Gamemakers' style. A subliminal message that all of the gifts from the old Capitol were tainted and came at too high of a cost. Cakes and fine foods are wasteful, and those who eat them are toxic to everyone else.

I keep moving. I'm making some noise, but with Valeria's death still fresh in my mind, I pay less attention to my motions. Finally, I come to a halt at another fence, the border between where I am and District 1 territory. The fence is on, so I can't go any further.

I stop, trying to control my breathing. It's almost midday, so I can probably risk a fire. I use the string and the abundance of wood to start a fire, making sure the wood burns without making much smoke. I cook the cattails and the asparagus, chewing them without thinking. After seeing Valeria, there's no way I will eat the cake. If it is poisoned, though, it could be a weapon of sorts against other tributes.

I'm still shaken up by the time I'm done eating, but I'm also exhausted. I haven't slept much, so I need to rest. I kick dirt on my fire until it goes out, and then turn and move back into the District 13 territory. I set up a couple of simple snares as I go, and damage several cameras.

Finally, I find a promising tree, and climb high enough up into the foliage that I should be hard to spot. I slip off my belt and tie myself to a wider branch, resting my head on a fork in the branches of the tree where the leaves provide a little shade for my head. The busy sounds of nature surrounds me, and somehow it doesn't seem fake even though this is an arena. I can't hear anything out of the ordinary, so I close my eyes. I cry for a little bit, and then finally just lay there. I hate these games. I hate the Gamemakers. I hate myself for wanting to be a Gamemaker, once. Sleep takes a long time coming.


	10. Chapter 10: Parachute

_President Paylor made her way to the podium for the mandatory broadcast. I watched her on my computer with a vague interest as I sprawled across my bed. My parents were downstairs watching from our dining room. They acted as if the twenty refugees the government demanded we house weren't there in the days following Grandfather's execution. Thankfully, my room had remained a place of peace and quiet, though the wails of some of the children occasionally permeated the walls. I thought we were lucky that the new government had done so little to target us following the war._

"_People of Panem, I am happy to tell you that we will be holding a final symbolic Hunger Games to celebrate the end of an era."_

_I was startled. I put the snack bar I was holding down on my bed as I continued watching._

"_We hold these Games with the consent of the remaining victors. This Seventy-Sixth annual Hunger Games, will reap it's tributes from the children of the influential citizens of the Capitol as a reminder that wasteful living has a cost."_

_Her speech continued, but I had stopped listening. I would be the symbol of the so-called children of the influential. I just lay there on my bed as I realized that they were going to punish my family by forcing me to compete and die in the Games. So much for the freedom Paylor spoke about to the Districts._

* * *

I wake to the sound of a soft chiming. I turn over, trying to turn off my morning alarm, and almost fall out of the tree. The first thing I notice is that it's almost evening. The next thing I notice is the source of the chiming sound: a parachute.

That can't be right. No one would possibly send me a parachute, and even if they did, the government wouldn't let them. Something is wrong, but I can't help but hope that someone would send me something in this awful arena. Could Gale have actually believed me? Could there really be a way out of this?

No, I would be naïve to hope that much. I may be in the arena where parachutes are supposed to bring food and supplies, but this parachute could still be a trap. The parachute lands in the tree, several branches above me. I unbuckle myself from the branch and survey the parachute.

Finally, I climb down the tree and grab a rock from below. I try to throw it at the parachute, but I miss. I try again three more times until I realize that I probably won't be able to hit the parachute with a rock from the ground. Gathering several rocks, I climb back in the tree. Anyone watching me probably thinks I'm going insane, but I'm worried that this parachute is too good to be true.

Now that I'm higher in the tree, I manage to hit the parachute with a rock, and it shifts a bit. A second rock sends the parachute tumbling to the ground.

The parachute falls swiftly to the ground, the fabric remaining crumpled. It hits the ground and the canister in the parachute splits open and then explodes in a deafening roar of light and sound.

I lose my grip on the tree branch, and fall ten feet to the ground. I can't breathe. I lie on the ground, my ears ringing, waiting for my breath to come back. Even lying down, I feel dizzy, and everything sounds faint.

I remember the parachutes dropped on the Capitol children, and I know I need to get away. The canister could explode again. It probably will, knowing the kind of effect the Gamemakers like to go for. Even if it doesn't, all of the other tributes must have heard. Turning away from the crater in the ground, I try to crawl away. The scenery spins before my eyes.

I make it to the bushes that haven't been uprooted by the explosion before I throw up my meal of cattails and wild asparagus. My head is still ringing, and I keep dragging myself forward. I'm supposed to be moving, but my head hurts so much that it's hard to remember why.

I stagger to my feet, limping forward. I keep moving until I run into a tree. A tree. I could climb the tree, and then I would be safe. My head hurts. I fall out of the tree twice before I make my way to a real branch. I laboriously pull myself up several branches higher before I sit, leaning against the tree trunk.

A second, larger explosion kicks more debris into the air. The sound is faint in my ringing ears compared to the first blast. That's probably not a good thing. I cling tightly to my tree, hoping it won't fall over.

I'm supposed to do something now, but it's hard to remember exactly what. Its hard to hear, and I reach up to touch my ears. My hands are bloody when I bring them away. My eardrums are damaged.

My hand strays to my belt, and I remember that I'm supposed to belt myself to the tree. It takes me a while, but finally, I am tied to the tree. My whole body aches. I just sit in my tree and wish that the pain would go away. I can feel my blood making warm traces from my ears down my neck until it meets my jacket. I'm so hungry, but mostly I feel sick.

The seal of Panem lights up the sky. With my bleeding ears, I can barely hear the anthem.

The first face to appear in the sky is little Ria's. Her dark hair neatly frames her face, and a wide and slightly uneven grin lights up her eyes. The picture looks almost nothing like the way she looked when she died. For a moment, the picture changes in my mind. Her hair becomes matted, and her eyes become wide with terror instead of joy, her lips curving into a cry for help instead of a smile. The mental image fades away, replaced by her picture, before even that disappears from the sky. I try to remember her by that picture. It's better that way.

The next face in the sky is a girl I recognize from the row behind me at the reaping. I remember her from parties and dances, though we were never particularly close. Antonia, that was her name. Antonia's picture is followed by another girl's face that I vaguely recognize before they begin to show pictures of the boys.

The faces of three boys that I distantly remember appear in the sky and then disappear. The seal of Panem appears again, and I imagine the loud music fading out, though I can barely hear it.

Six dead today. Eight left to play. The ranks of tributes are thinning out quickly. I'm surprised that so many of us died on the second day. In previous Games, the second day is usually fairly light on casualties since everyone is spread out. I think through the tributes I remember. Julius, Marcus, Victory girl, Chelsei, Nero, and Avox boy are all still alive. That leaves two other people I can't quite remember. I think back and try to count again, but I still can't remember who the final two people are.

I lean back against my tree. My hearing is slowly coming back, and I feel famished. I also haven't had any water all day, and I'm dehydrated from all the running I did after I left Valeria.

After sitting for a little while longer, I decide that I need to leave my tree to look for food or water. These are the Hunger Games after all, and being hungry and dehydrated will leave me weak. I move my head from side to side. I can feel the dried blood cracking and flaking off. I rub at it with my hands until I imagine that only smudges are left. Rubbing my fingers next to each ear, I test my hearing. To my surprise, I find that I can actually hear in both ears though the sound is a bit quiet.

I'm about to unbelt myself from the tree and climb down when I hear the sound of movement through the trees and voices.

"Marcus, you can't!"

It's a girl's voice, but I can't quite tell exactly who she is.

"I'm going to kill whoever did this. I'm going to kill them all!" Marcus' roar is easy to make out. He sounds furious.

"You don't know how she died. What makes you think this is even related?" The same girl is speaking again.

"I don't care. I'm going to kill them. If you bother me, I'll kill you. I'll kill you, you hear me?"

The sound of Marcus' raging grows nearer. They are coming closer to my tree. I carefully and quietly put my belt back on. I need to be ready to move quickly if they find me. Actually, if the two of them find me, I'll be outnumbered and I won't have much of a chance. I slowly start to move higher up in the tree.

"Can we stop for a minute, please?" A different girl is speaking this time. There must be at least three of them.

"Hurry up, puker."

Marcus again. He sounds so angry. He never acted this way before.

"The food was bad for all of us, Marc. Give her some time." The first girl speaks again, her voice remaining calm with a hint of steel in her tone.

Interesting. They must have all eaten the food at the Cornucopia and been poisoned. None of them seem to be acting as strangely as Valeria, but then again, she was much smaller than the rest of them.

"I'm sorry. I just really feel sick." This time, I recognize the breathless voice of the second girl. It's Chelsei. There are two girls besides Chelsei and me left in the arena. I can't remember one, but the other is Victory girl. She must be the first girl in the conversation.

I can make out a flickering light through the trees in the direction of their voices. They must have made torches so they can find their way in the dark.

"Where was it?" comes Marcus' irate tone.

"Well, it sounded like it came from somewhere around here. Whoever it is must already be dead, Marc," comes Victory girl's voice.

"No, we're going to find it. Hurry up, Chelsei, or I'll kill you."

The threat doesn't seem to bother her. I can hear their footsteps receding into the brush, going away from me. They'll probably come back if they really are searching the area, so I can't chance moving out of my tree.

I wait for a while in my tree before I hear the sound of footsteps returning back towards me, and the accompanying voices.

"I'm tired. Can't we just call it a night?" Chelsei asks.

"Not yet." Victory girl's voice is terse.

For several moments the only sound I can hear is the rustling of bushes. I watch their torches pass beneath my tree, and I can see the figures of Marcus, Victory girl, and Chelsei.

Shortly after they pass my tree, Victory girl speaks again.

"Stop. This is it."

"There's no one here, Marcus," Chelsei pipes up, "Can we just rest now?"

"No."

"Enough, Marc, calm down," says Victory girl, "We'll be able to hunt better if we're well rested."

"No, this isn't good enough!" Marcus' voice is raised again. "I'm gonna find someone and I'll rip them apart, piece by piece."

"Then go and find them," says Victory girl in an irritated voice, "Alone."

"I could kill you," says Marcus. I can make out his form looming over her through the trees. Suddenly he backs away and Victory girl laughs.

"Not so cocky now, are you?"

Marcus roars and lunges for her. I watch as she waves a spear in his face.

"Go find someone better to kill, Marc, if you can't get along with us."

He stands in front of her, poised to lunge, for several moments before he turns and runs off into the darkness. In the silence, I can hear a gagging sound. It must be Chelsei.

"Get up." Victory girl is speaking again. "He's made so much noise the whole arena will know we're here. We'll move for a bit and then we'll camp. If you're better by tomorrow morning, you can stick around."

I can hear the unspoken threat in Victory girl's words. Chelsei murmurs an assent and the pair head in my direction. As they pass beneath me with their torches, I can see their faces. Chelsei looks worn and tired, occasionally stumbling over loose scrub on the ground. Victory girl wears a vicious smile on her face, and moves quietly across the ground, occasionally reaching out towards trees to stabilize herself. She must not have been poisoned as badly as Chelsei.

Chelsei begins to speak again, much more quietly, after they pass my tree.

"I can't believe he won't listen to reason."

"He… poisoned. What did … expect?"

"… know … Valeria couldn't even …"

"… yeah … awful …"

Soon enough they are out of earshot. I wait several minutes to be safe and then climb down from my tree. I could follow them. Now that I know that they have plans to camp out, I could just follow them to their campsite and kill them there. But they might have posted a guard. I can't track them in the dark without some sort of light, and they're too far away by now. I don't really want to kill Chelsei, even though she seems to dislike me now for no good reason. Regardless, I need to find food and water. Preferably food and water that isn't poisoned.

Unfortunately, Victory girl and Chelsei headed off in the direction of the District 12 area. Marcus ran off straight towards the Capitol section, so now it makes sense to head towards the next district section of the arena. Unfortunately, it's probably District 1 since the previous three sections were in numerical order. District 1, the place that provided luxury items to the capitol. Mostly mining operations and metalsmithing, but the district did do some trapping. Still not an ideal place to find food, unlike the lush fields and crops of Districts 9, 10, and 11 or the even woods of District 7 or the shores of District 4.

I remember the snares I set earlier before I fell asleep. Moving back towards the crater caused by the explosion, I check my traps. Somehow, three of the traps weren't damaged in the explosion, and one has a squirrel in it. The poor animal is still alive, and I quickly snap its' neck. Good, I have some food for the moment, though I will need to start a fire to cook it.

I'm in for a long trek. I want to get away from Marcus and the two girls, and I want to find a source of water. I don't want to try going around wherever Chelsei and Victory girl are headed, because I run the risk of walking right into their camp. I doubt the areas for Districts 1, 2, or 3 will have anything. There's a river in District 4 that runs into the sea. I've seen it in videos of the district, and I'm hoping that the Gamemakers will have recreated that feature in the arena. Warily, I head towards the fence, and walk until I come to the District 1 area. The fence between the two District areas is electrified, but the fence between my area and the Capitol is not, so I duck under.

I walk along the edge of the Capitol terrain, eyeing the sparse scrub in the District 1 area. There's no sign of water, and though the area might have caves I could shelter in, I can't imagine finding any water. An hour or so later, the sky is still darkening, and I reach another fence. The sparse scrub of District 1 gives way to the rocky terrain of District 2. Still no signs of water. I reach out and touch my tongue and find that it is dry. My head hurts and I can't tell if it's from the explosion earlier or just dehydration.

Another while later, I make it to the District 3 area. The district is dominated by technology and manufacturing, but here in the arena, the Gamemakers have only copied the terrain. The area shows lots of weedy grass and scattered trees and hills. The grass is turning yellow. I won't find water here. I'm staggering a bit as I walk. It's hard to stand up straight, and I feel a bit dizzy. I was lucky to find water so quickly in District 12. I shouldn't have left that stream.

I keep walking, but my pace is getting slower. The temperature is dropping, and now I am glad for the warmth my jacket provides. I think of little Valeria without her jacket, and then quickly try to think of anything else. I think the sky may be lightening slowly by the time I get to the fence of the District 4 area. There's no humming sound, so I try to squeeze my way through the fence. The wires are tight, and I have to move a little further down the fence before I finally find a spot where I fit.

The ground is covered in lush, more tropical looking trees. Somehow, the air is more humid on this side of the fence. The ground is covered in ferns and other low-lying bushes. I listen carefully, but I don't hear running water. I'm still hopeful that there may be water somewhere because the ground squishes softly under my feet.

Eventually, I run across a slow moving stream. The water isn't entirely still, but it's more cloudy than the clear stream in the District 12 area. I can't afford to be picky, and I scoop the water into my mouth with both hands. I drink for several minutes before I am satisfied.

I think I'm far enough away from the other tributes to risk a fire, and I'm afraid that my squirrel will go bad if I keep ahold of it for too much longer. It takes me a little while to get a fire going, but finally, I am able to cook my squirrel. I watch the squirrel cook from behind several ferns, watching carefully for any signs of other tributes, but nothing happens.

I scarf down my cooked squirrel, picking the bones clean. I kick mud on the fire and stomp on it until it goes out, and then I wash my hands in the stream. The trees have been working well for me so far, so I walk a reasonable ways from the site of my fire and then climb a tree. I belt myself to a branch, and I am asleep before my head meets the branch.

I wake up a mid-morning on the third day to an earthquake.


End file.
